Read Online Quilt As You Go by Arlene Sachitano - Free Book Online
Authors: Arlene Sachitano
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go ahead, baby,” she said. “I'll keep your spot cool."
Harriet was already crouched over the man when Carlton arrived.
"He doesn't look too good,” he said. “How is he?"
The man hadn't moved. He was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt and was lying on his side, his back toward her. She reached out to feel for a pulse in his neck, and when she touched him he flopped onto his back, startling her and making Carlton jump back a few steps.
The quantity of blood soaking the front of the man's shirt seemed to be more than a person should be able to lose and still be alive, but Harriet checked for a pulse anyway. He was dead.
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Chapter 8
"Carlton,” Harriet said.
Carlton didn't move. He was frozen in place, staring at the body, his face white.
" Carlton ,” she said again, more firmly this time.
"What?” he asked in a flat voice, still staring at the body.
"Listen to me. We need the police and the paramedics here immediately. I don't have a phone with me, and I assume you don't, either. I need for you to go back to the park office and ask them to call for the sheriff. The paramedics are in the parking lot, go get them."
He hesitated.
"Go!” she shouted and finally got through to him. He went back toward the stage.
Harriet turned to the body at her feet. A slight breeze gently ruffled his hair, overlaying the coppery scent of blood with the damp smell of pine trees and earth and briefly giving him the illusion of life. She didn't recognize him, but he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he went to Aunt Beth's church, or drank coffee in the shop she frequented.
She was still looking at him when Mavis came up behind her.
Harriet turned toward her friend.
"Don't come any closer,” she said. “There's been an accident."
It was too late. The blood drained from Mavis's face, and she crumpled to the ground, her full skirt billowing around her as she fell.
"Mavis!” Harriet grabbed at her, breaking but not stopping her fall. “Help!” she called.
A man dressed in the gray of the Confederate army was picking up debris left from the battle when he heard her call. He ran over and helped her ease Mavis onto her back.
"I'm a doctor,” he said as he started loosening the bodice of her dress. He felt for the pulse in her left wrist. “Her pulse is strong.” He continued loosening and checking. “Are you okay?” he asked Harriet as he straightened Mavis's legs and ran trained fingers along her shins to make sure she hadn't broken anything in her fall.
The doctor looked over at the man lying a few feet away.
"He's dead,” Harriet said before he could ask, and the doctor refocused his attention on Mavis.
Harriet held Mavis's hand. The older woman's lips began to move; at first, no sound came out.
"It's him,” she said finally in a garbled tone.
"What?” Harriet asked.
"It's Gerald,” Mavis said, and tried to get up.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to lie down for a few minutes until the paramedics get here with their equipment and we can run a couple of quick tests.” The doctor turned to Harriet. “I can't find any sign of injury, and I don't think its heat-related.” He felt Mavis's forehead with the back of his hand again. “She's not hot enough for that. She just seems shocky.” He looked back toward the body. “What's going on here?"
"I don't know. We were coming down the bleachers and noticed this guy hadn't gotten up when the rest of the re-enactors did. I came over to check it out and found him lying there with no pulse."
I know dead when I see it, Harriet thought. Her husband Steve had died five years before her return to Foggy Point—she'd crawled into bed after a late movie “night out with the girls” and rubbed her foot up his cold, dead shin. It took several years of therapy for her to just be able to sleep in a bed again—most of the time, anyway.
Yes, she knew dead.
"He has a chest injury, and there's blood everywhere."
"Will you stay with her and
Harriet was already crouched over the man when Carlton arrived.
"He doesn't look too good,” he said. “How is he?"
The man hadn't moved. He was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt and was lying on his side, his back toward her. She reached out to feel for a pulse in his neck, and when she touched him he flopped onto his back, startling her and making Carlton jump back a few steps.
The quantity of blood soaking the front of the man's shirt seemed to be more than a person should be able to lose and still be alive, but Harriet checked for a pulse anyway. He was dead.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 8
"Carlton,” Harriet said.
Carlton didn't move. He was frozen in place, staring at the body, his face white.
" Carlton ,” she said again, more firmly this time.
"What?” he asked in a flat voice, still staring at the body.
"Listen to me. We need the police and the paramedics here immediately. I don't have a phone with me, and I assume you don't, either. I need for you to go back to the park office and ask them to call for the sheriff. The paramedics are in the parking lot, go get them."
He hesitated.
"Go!” she shouted and finally got through to him. He went back toward the stage.
Harriet turned to the body at her feet. A slight breeze gently ruffled his hair, overlaying the coppery scent of blood with the damp smell of pine trees and earth and briefly giving him the illusion of life. She didn't recognize him, but he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he went to Aunt Beth's church, or drank coffee in the shop she frequented.
She was still looking at him when Mavis came up behind her.
Harriet turned toward her friend.
"Don't come any closer,” she said. “There's been an accident."
It was too late. The blood drained from Mavis's face, and she crumpled to the ground, her full skirt billowing around her as she fell.
"Mavis!” Harriet grabbed at her, breaking but not stopping her fall. “Help!” she called.
A man dressed in the gray of the Confederate army was picking up debris left from the battle when he heard her call. He ran over and helped her ease Mavis onto her back.
"I'm a doctor,” he said as he started loosening the bodice of her dress. He felt for the pulse in her left wrist. “Her pulse is strong.” He continued loosening and checking. “Are you okay?” he asked Harriet as he straightened Mavis's legs and ran trained fingers along her shins to make sure she hadn't broken anything in her fall.
The doctor looked over at the man lying a few feet away.
"He's dead,” Harriet said before he could ask, and the doctor refocused his attention on Mavis.
Harriet held Mavis's hand. The older woman's lips began to move; at first, no sound came out.
"It's him,” she said finally in a garbled tone.
"What?” Harriet asked.
"It's Gerald,” Mavis said, and tried to get up.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to lie down for a few minutes until the paramedics get here with their equipment and we can run a couple of quick tests.” The doctor turned to Harriet. “I can't find any sign of injury, and I don't think its heat-related.” He felt Mavis's forehead with the back of his hand again. “She's not hot enough for that. She just seems shocky.” He looked back toward the body. “What's going on here?"
"I don't know. We were coming down the bleachers and noticed this guy hadn't gotten up when the rest of the re-enactors did. I came over to check it out and found him lying there with no pulse."
I know dead when I see it, Harriet thought. Her husband Steve had died five years before her return to Foggy Point—she'd crawled into bed after a late movie “night out with the girls” and rubbed her foot up his cold, dead shin. It took several years of therapy for her to just be able to sleep in a bed again—most of the time, anyway.
Yes, she knew dead.
"He has a chest injury, and there's blood everywhere."
"Will you stay with her and
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