“Can you make it up the ladder?” Kitty asked anxiously.
There were only three or four steps to climb, but even that would be a strain on Brad in his weakened condition.
“Maybe you’d better go ahead and give me a hand,” he was forced to admit. “Guess I’m no good.”
She hadn’t realized how weak he was until she tried to help him up that ladder. She had to pull him by his good arm every step of the way. When he reached the dock he collapsed at her feet. Desperately she glanced toward the village, hoping for help, but the storm had evidently driven everyone to shelter. A small boat battled the gale half way between them and the hospital, but the howling wind would drown her call for help.
She was afraid to leave him on the dock while she went for help. The gale might grow strong enough any minute to sweep him into the water. There was danger of opening the wound again if she tried to move him, but she had no choice. Carefully she lifted his head against her knees, locked her hands under his arms and dragged him down the dock to the shelter of a twisted oak that grew on the shell bank.
She was already wet from the mist and spray and now rain came in a sudden deluge. It mingled with the tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran the block and a half to her home. With a thankful prayer she saw that the lights were on. Jane, at least, must be there.
“Let me in!” she called, actually pounding the door with her fists.
Jane swung the door in almost at once. “Why, Miss Kitty, you looks like a scarecrow!”
“Is Dad here?”
“Yas’m. He sho is, an’ he just about on he haid cause you ain’t come home.”