Free The Sisters of St. Croix by Diney Costeloe

eyes are staring at me. I think she’s dead, but Catherine isn’t. She’s got blood coming out, but she’s making a funny noise, so she isn’t dead.”
    “What will you do?” asked the woman. “Do you want to come with me? I am going on now.”
    “No. I have to bring Catherine. She’s hurt. She’s bleeding. I have to find a doctor.”
    The woman gave a sharp laugh that didn’t sound like a real laugh at all, and David took a step back.
    “Don’t think there’s much chance of that,” the woman said, “but if you want me to help you get your sister to the village over there, I’ll do that.”
    When David didn’t answer she said, “Well, do you? We can’t just stand here and wait for those buggers to come back.”
    David nodded dumbly. He didn’t know what to do, but perhaps there was someone in the village that might help if he could only get there.
    “Right, then,” the woman said, and bending down she scooped Catherine up into her arms and laid her on top of the pram.
    Hannah gave a squawk and the woman said, “Lift the baby out. You can carry her. I’ll push the pram with the little girl on top.”
    “What about Maman?” David looked anxiously down at his mother still lying on her side with her face in the hedge.
    “You’ll have to leave her,” the woman replied brusquely, “like everyone else.” Then she added, “Did she have any money on her? You ought to look. You’ll need money whatever happens to you.”
    David knew that his mother had her money in a little leather bag tied round her waist under her skirt. Should he take it? Suppose this strange woman took the money away from him. He didn’t want to touch his mother again. He didn’t want to rummage through her clothes to find the moneybag, but they did need the money.
    Losing patience, the woman said, “Here, hold onto the pram. I’ll look. Do you know where she hid it?”
    David told her and within a moment she was handing him the little leather pouch. “Put it somewhere safe,” she instructed. “Not everyone’s as honest as I am.”
    David hoisted Hannah up onto his hip as he had seen his mother do and managed to stuff the bag into his pocket. Then returning the baby to his arms, he looked at the woman again. This time he remembered where he’d seen her.
    “You gave Hannah some milk,” he said. “Last night.”
    She didn’t answer that, but simply said, “Come on, let’s get away from here.”
    David turned to look at his mother once more and then with a shuddering sob turned to follow the woman who was already wheeling the pram, with Catherine draped across it, along the road towards the next village.
    It was still a mile or so, but they made steady progress and half an hour later they trailed into the village square. It was already seething with refugees trying to find shelter for their wounded, food and drink for themselves. The woman kept walking, pushing the pram with the injured child in it, and David was now afraid of losing his new friend. Hannah had at last fallen asleep in his arms, and she lay heavy against his shoulder, but although his arms ached he clutched her to him with one arm and held fast to the woman’s skirt with his other hand, so that they should not become separated.
    The woman pushed her way through the crowd and headed for a small café that opened off the square. An old lady was sitting in the window looking out at what was happening. The café door was closed, and when she pushed it, as many others had before her, the woman found that it was locked. Undeterred she banged on the window.
    “Let us in,” she bellowed. “I’ve an injured child here.”
    The old lady inside continued to stare, but made no effort to open the door. A young girl came round the side of the café and said, “You can’t come in. We’ve no spare food here.”
    “It’s a doctor we need,” snapped the woman. “Which is the doctor’s house?”
    “He’s not there, he’s at the hospital.”
    “Hospital!