Free A Quilt for Jenna by Patrick E. Craig Page B

Sunday mornings.
    Soon the old man fell asleep, and the hours passed. He woke up around two that afternoon and stretched himself. He picked the cat up from off his lap and set him down beside the chair. The cat complained loudly.
    Mark went over to the cupboard to see what he could find to eat. He rummaged around until he found some Ritz crackers and a jar of peanut butter. He went to the refrigerator for some milk and poured it into a pan on the stove. Then he rustled around in the cupboard until he found the plastic jar of chocolate syrup, squeezed some into the milk, and turned the burner on.
    After it had warmed up, he poured the milk into a cup, turned on the radio on the kitchen counter, and set his snack on the reading table next to his chair. Then he put some more wood on the fire and settled back.
    The radio was playing Glenn Miller—“Moonlight Serenade” or something like that—and Mark started eating his crackers and drinking his milk. The warm milk and the music soothed him, and soon he moved back to his overstuffed chair and fell asleep.
    When Mark awoke it was already dark outside. He turned on the lamp next to his chair and sat for a minute, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Suddenly he heard a loud crash outside. The dog and cat both jerked awake and stared at the door.
    â€œThat sounded like a tree going over,” Mark said. “Come on, boy, let’s go see.”
    Smitty jumped to his feet and went to the door and whined. Mark went to the back porch and got a flashlight off the shelf. He slipped on his galoshes and put on the old army parka that was hanging on a hook by the door. He went to the front door, and when he opened it the cold wind and snow blew into the room.
    â€œC’mon, Smitty, let’s check it out,” he called to the dog.
    As he shined the flashlight around, Mark soon saw the cause of the noise. The big laurel tree out on the lane had blown over and was partially blocking the driveway. Mark pulled the face flap of the parka over his mouth, and he and Smitty walked down the driveway toward the tree. Suddenly Mark stumbled over something and sprawled headlong into the snow. The flashlight flew out of his hand and hit the ground hard, but the light stayed on.
    â€œWhat was that?” Mark asked as he gingerly rubbed a bruised knee. He grabbed the flashlight and took a closer look. Smitty was whining frantically and digging at something under the snow. Mark hobbled over and started brushing the snow away as Smitty pawed at the heap. In a few seconds he realized what he had tripped over. Lying in the snow faceup with a bloody gash on the side of his head was a young man.

    The little girl pushed deeper into the pile of clothing and the seat cushion. She slipped in and out of consciousness, now dreaming of angels. She had never seen an angel, but her mama had told her about them. They had wings and were very kind and helped people who were in trouble. As she lay on the ceiling of the upside-down car, the fierce wind continued to blow, and the car slipped a few more inches down the bank onto the frozen pond. The ice groaned and crackled, and beneath the front of the car, the crack in the ice widened.

    Mark Knepp brushed the snow off the unconscious young man’s face and then gasped.
    â€œHenry Lowenstein! What in the world are you doing out here, boy?”
    No answer.
    â€œHenry, can you hear me? Wake up, Henry!”
    Mark shook Henry, but he didn’t stir.
    â€œGotta get him inside,” the old man said as Smitty whined and pawed at the lad. The old man reached under Henry’s arms, took hold, and began to drag him slowly toward the house. He managed to get him up on the porch and then kicked the door open and dragged Henry inside, pulling him over by the stove. The lad’s lips were blue, and his face was pale white. Mark checked for a pulse. There! Henry was alive but in bad shape. The old man wrestled off the boy’s coat