Page 81 of The Fault Between Us
Bridget added Grace Miller—whoever she was—to her prayers.
“The dam should be a mile or so up this way.”
Marigold, as if sensing Red’s urgency, picked up her pace. Flick followed and all Bridget’s attention went into keeping her seat and not letting her teeth clack together as she bounced behind Red.
Red pulled Marigold to a stop. “This is it.”
The dam wasn’t much to look at. Just a concrete barrier stretching along the narrow end of the lake. Hundreds of floating logs were jammed against it, as if they were waiting to go over the top.
“Seems to be holding, at least for now,” Red said.
Thank you, Lord.If the dam held, maybe her sisters and Jenny were safe. Cold and scared and waiting for rescue, but safe.
“Look.” Red pointed to a constellation of lights that seemed to hang in the dark sky above the dam. “Headlights. And campfires.”
Red turned Marigold toward the points of light, and leaned low over her neck. The horse shot up the hillside. Flick followed and Bridget held on, her heart swelling with hope. Claire had to be here. Safe with Jenny and Beth and Frannie.Please, Lord, let them be here.
At the top of the ridge, dozens of cars and campers were parked haphazardly on a large flat meadow, their headlights blazing. As Red and Bridget reined their mounts to a stop, flashlight beams swarmedtoward them like fireflies. Men, women, and children—some in pajamas and bathrobes—surrounded them, buzzing with questions.
“Is the road open?”
“Have you heard anything from outside?”
“Is help on the way?”
Red raised his voice to be heard above the barrage. “Has anyone seen a woman and a baby? I’m looking for my wife.”
A chorus of voices answered as Bridget scanned the faces in the flickering lights. She didn’t see Claire or Beth or Frannie. And no baby’s cry met her ears. Red dismounted and glanced back at her. “I’m going to look for them.”
He disappeared, leaving Marigold and Flick and Bridget on their own.
A woman pushed through the throng of people. She was wearing a bathrobe and had curlers in her hair. “Are you a nurse?”
Bridget reached up to touch her nurse’s cap that had miraculously stayed pinned to her hair during the jarring ride. “Yes. Is anyone injured?”
“Thank the Lord,” the woman said with both relief and urgency in her voice. “Follow me.”
Bridget carefully slid off of Flick’s back, her legs aching and wobbly. “Stay,” Bridget said to Flick, and followed the woman up the ridge.
They reached the flat meadow where two lines of cars faced each other. “I’m Peggy Greer,” she introduced herself. “I’ve done what I can, but I only had a first aid course a few years ago.”
Bridget tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
The headlights illuminated at least a dozen people lying on an assortment of sleeping bags and blankets. At first glance, they looked covered in mud, but then Bridget saw the blood, the makeshift bandages, and realized many of them weren’t even wearing clothes. “What on earth happened to them?”
“They’re from downriver,” the woman said. “At the slide.”
Bridget didn’t know what she meant by that, but it didn’t sound good. She searched the faces of the injured, looking for Claire’s wideeyes or Frannie’s pixie haircut, for Beth or little Jenny. “Have you seen a woman with a baby? Or a young girl, about eighteen with short hair?”
Mrs. Greer shook her head. “I’ve been here all night. Please.” She tugged Bridget toward a station wagon. “These people just came in, I don’t know what to do for them.” Bridget followed Mrs. Greer to the open tailgate of a station wagon. “This is Mildred and Roy Wilson,” Mrs. Greer said. Three young girls moved aside for her to see the couple. The woman was pallid but conscious, with blood-soaked kitchen towels wrapped around her arm. Her husband was covered in mud, his leg wrapped in a dirty bedsheet.
“She’s a nurse,” Mrs. Greer said to the woman. “She’s going to help.”
The woman nodded weakly. “Thank the Lord for you, dear.”
Bridget’s throat tightened, but she reminded herself to remain professional. Mrs. Greer pointed the flashlight. Bridget gently removed the bloody towels and looked at the wound. The woman’s arm was almost completely severed at the elbow. Bridget replaced the bandages. The pain this woman was suffering must be unbearable. Next, she looked at the husband’s leg. The twelve-inch gash on his thigh went all the way to the bone. He was pale and looked to be in shock.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Mrs. Greer said and Bridget covered both the patients again with the sleeping bag, her mind spinning. These injuries were life-threatening even in a hospital setting.
