The coach lurched forward and they drove past the snow-covered village green, then traveled down the hill beyond the mercantile and entered the woods.
Chapter Fifteen
“Stop! Please stop!”
At the sound of a voice on the road, Garrett slid across the seat and used his sleeve to rub at the fog on the window.
He peered out at a young boy in a short black coat, his red scarf flying in the wind. He had come out of the woods and was running alongside the coach.
Garrett stood up and pounded on the roof. “Hold up, Jameson!”
The coach pulled to a halt. Garrett flung the door open and jumped into the snow. Its depth caught him by surprise, for it nearly reached his knees.
The boy grabbed hold of his sleeve. “Please help me, sir! My brother fell through the ice! I tried to help him but I can’t get him out!”
Garrett immediately sought more information. “Where is he? At the fish pond?”
“Yes, sir!” The boy turned and pointed into the forest. “Just through there! I told him it wasn’t safe, but he wouldn’t listen!”
Garrett turned to Dr. Thomas as he stepped out of the vehicle. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes. We must hurry.”
“Jameson!” Garrett shouted. “A boy has fallen through the ice at the fish pond! Hand me your horsewhip and secure the team. Then follow us. We will most likely need your help.”
The coachman tossed the whip to Garrett and climbed down from the box.
Garrett and Dr. Thomas trudged through the snow into the shelter of the trees to follow the boy.
It seemed a terrible distance through stinging sleet to reach the pond. When at last they emerged through a heavy curtain of pine boughs, the wind was gusting like a fiend across the wide circle of ice.
“Good God,” Garrett said as he spotted the boy half submerged. He was not fighting to climb out. Was he even conscious?
“You there!” Dr. Thomas shouted, rushing forward. “Can you hear me?” The boy’s head lifted slightly. Dr. Thomas swung around. “He won’t last much longer.”
Garrett handed the coiled horsewhip to him. “I will crawl out to reach the boy. Throw me this line if I have trouble.”
Stepping onto the ice, Garrett bounced lightly to test his weight. It seemed secure.
“I’m coming!” he shouted to the boy as he leapt lightly across the frozen, snow-covered surface.
He dropped to his stomach as he drew near and crawled as close as he dared. “Grab my hand! Hurry!”
The boy was shivering violently. He lifted his eyes.
“I’m here to help you,” Garrett said. “Take hold of my hand and I will pull you out.”
“I...I c...can’t,” the boy stammered through chattering teeth as he shook his head.
“Yes, you can. Your brother’s waiting for you. He’s watching from the bank.” Garrett slid closer on his stomach and grabbed hold of the boy’s wrist. “I’ve got you now, but I can’t pull you out on my own. You need to kick. Can you do that?”
The boy weakly kicked with his legs. It wasn’t enough. Garrett reached out, hand over hand, to take hold of his arm and pulled with all his might, but he had no traction, no leverage. The boy’s eyes fell closed and he began to sink back, pulling Garrett with him.
Suddenly he was back on the deck of his boat. Johnny was laughing in the sun and the wind. It was such a perfect day. There was not a cloud in the sky...
Then the wretched look of terror in Johnny’s eyes as the wreckage pulled him into the dark stormy depths. I’ve got you...I won’t let go...hold on tight...
Grounding himself in the present, Garrett turned and shouted through the raging sleet and snow. “We need help!”
By then Jameson had arrived. “On my way!” He skidded fearlessly onto the ice, dove onto his belly and slid close enough to grab hold of Garrett’s leg.
Next, Dr. Thomas carefully trotted out and took hold of Jameson’s boot. Together they formed a human chain and pulled hard, grunting against the strain until the boy was drawn out of the hole. He opened his eyes and woke up.
“Can you walk?” Garrett asked.
“I...I don’t know.” His eyes rolled back in his head again.
The ice creaked and shifted beneath them. There was no more time. Garrett stood up, grabbed hold of the boy’s arm and hauled him quickly up onto the snowy bank and to the treeline.
They rolled him onto his back. “He’s not conscious,” Garrett said, tapping the boy’s cheek. “Wake up! Can you hear me? Wake up!”
“What’s wrong with him?” the younger brother cried. “Is he going to be all right?”
Dr. Thomas leaned in, pressed his fingers to the pulse at the boy’s neck and lowered his ear to listen. “He’s still breathing, but his pulse is weak. We need to get him out of these wet clothes. Help me carry him back to the coach.”