She went into the kitchen and built a quick fire and put on a large kettle of water and a small kettle, for tea. The phone rang.
“Mary! Where do I go?”
“Why, Powell’s Station, out the Pike towards…”
“I know, but exactly where? Didn’t he say?”
“He said Brannick’s blacksmith shop. B-r-a-n-n-i-c-k. Do you hear?”
“Yes. Brannick.”
“He said they’ll keep the lights on and you can’t miss it. It’s just to the left of the Pike just this side of Bell’s Bridge. Just a little way this side.”
“All right, Mary, Walter will come by here and we’ll bring Aunt Hannah on our way.”
“All right. Thank you, Andrew.”
She put on more kindling and hurried into the downstairs bedroom. How do I know, she thought; he didn’t even say; I didn’t even ask. By the way he talks he may be-she whipped off the coverlet, folded it, and smoothed the pad. I’m just simply not going to think about it until I know more, she told herself. She hurried to the linen closet and brought clean sheets and pillowcases. He didn’t say whether there was a doctor there or not. She spread a sheet, folded it under the foot of the mattress, pulled it smooth, and folded it under all around. Then she spread her palms along it; it was cold and smooth beneath her hands and it brought her great hope. Oh God, let him be well enough to come home where I can take care of him, where I can take good care of him. How good to rest! That’s all right, ma’am. Just some man that’s kin. She spread the top sheet. That’s all right, ma’am. That can mean anything. It can mean there’s a doctor there and although it’s serious he has it in hand, under control, it isn’t so dreadfully bad, although he did say it’s serious or it can… A light blanket, this weather. Two, case it
