A boy of about twelve trembled on the stoop. Beyond him, they could see the family’s wagon at the end of the front walk, the horse shaking his mane, one hoof pawing the street as if he was aware of the seriousness of the situation. The two smaller children and their mother were in the back, her arms holding her injured husband and looking toward the office frantically.
“Doc, my pa’s hurt bad!” the boy was saying, and Doc immediately went into action, hurrying to the wagon to assess the man’s injuries; the boy at his heels.
“Who is it that’s injured?” Dwight asked, his taller height allowing him to see over the women’s heads.
Pearl glanced over her shoulder at him. “They look familiar, but I can’t place them.”
Mary answered, “It’s the Swigert family. They live about two miles out of town, on the road to Nebraska City. Very nice people. I met them at church. The boy’s name is Benny. I can’t recall what the father’s name is,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.
Just then, Doc turned toward the house, motioning with a hand and calling, “Dwight, son, come help me, please.”
Without hesitation, Dwight jogged down to the wagon to help Doc carry the unconscious man inside.
When he reached the wagon, he had to turn his head away from the man’s gruesome injury, which was horrific. Both legs were obviously broken, but the right was worse, with what Dwight knew was called a compound fracture. The wife had attempted to tie rags around the wound, but it was still bleeding profusely; the rags were soaked. His left arm rested at an odd angle and there was blood oozing from a wound on his head. Fortunately, the man was, at the moment, unconscious.
“Help him, please Doc!” his wife urged, tears streaming. The two younger children, a boy and a girl of about six and four, huddled together against the back of the wagon’s seat, crying as well.
“What am I thinking,” Doc mumbled. “We need to get him on a stretcher.” Turning to Dwight, he said, “Son, your legs are a lot younger than mine. There’s a stretcher standing up in the corner on the back porch. Run and get it for me, will you?”
“Sure thing, Doc,” Dwight answered even as he turned and headed back toward the house at full speed. He was glad to be away from the carnage for a few moments.
Rounding the house, his mother hollered to him, asking what was wrong with the man, but he only waved a hand to let her know there was no time to stop. He reached the screened back porch and yanked open the door, immediately saw the object—basically two wooden poles with canvas stretched between them—and was back with it in less than a minute.
Between the two men and the older Swigert boy, they managed to get the injured father onto the stretcher without doing him more damage. His wife hovered and fretted, nearly out of her mind with fear and worry, while the younger children climbed down from the wagon and tried to stay with their parents. Their crying tugged at Dwight’s heart.
Carefully, they carried Mr. Swigert up the walk, up the steps, and into Doc’s office. Pearl and Mary held the doors open and had made things as ready as they could.
Foregoing the exam table, Doc directed Dwight to help him put the man on the large cot along one wall, but in order to not jostle the injured man too much, they merely laid him down, stretcher and all.
“Cornelius…may I be of assistance?” His mother’s voice called over the din of children crying.
Dwight turned and saw Mary and his mother in the doorway. Mary’s face was pale, her eyes large and worried; his mother looked very concerned.
Doc had gone right to work cutting the material of the man’s pantleg when he paused and looked at Pearl over his shoulder to answer. “If you have the stomach for it, Pearl, then yes, I could use the help.” Then, he pointedly looked at Dwight and motioned with his head toward the stricken man’s family huddling together off to one side.
Dwight understood the message. He went over to Mrs. Swigert and gently ushered her and the children out of the exam room, including Mary in the process with a hand at the small of her back as his mother was hurrying over to Doc. Turning, he quickly, but quietly, pulled the pocket doors together before directing everyone into the parlor. They could hear Doc issuing instructions to his new assistant.
As the family sat together on the settee, the visibly upset wife struggled to be of comfort to her children.
Before he could say a word, Mary seemed to snap out of her fear.
“Mrs. Swigert, have you and the children had breakfast?” Mary asked, her voice soft.
The woman looked up at her, her face streaked with tears and smudged with her husband’s blood, her expression one of shock.
“I’m hung-wy,” the youngest child, a girl named Annie, whimpered.
Hugging the child to her, the mother mumbled, “We were just sitting down to eat when…it happened…”
Dwight hunkered down in front of the woman.
“How did it happen, Mrs. Swigert? How did your husband get injured?”
The poor woman shook her head slowly from side to side. “I…I’m not sure. The children and I were in the house and I’d just put breakfast on the table…Jay was in the barn finishing up with the morning chores…and all of a sudden, I heard shouts and a loud noise. I flung open the door and saw my husband lying in a heap in front of the barn…” she paused and a massive shudder racked her body. Then, she added, “I
