Free The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story by Robert Weverka

and then John-Boy had the shock of his life.
    John-Boy hadn’t noticed anything unusual when he came in. Just as Dr. Miller was a large man, so was his desk, and John-Boy had paid little attention to the chair behind it. But the doctor’s hands suddenly dropped out of sight and then he swivelled and was propelling himself around the desk in a wheelchair. John-Boy knew his mouth must have dropped open a foot.
    Dr. Miller frowned curiously at him, then laughed. “Oh, you didn’t know?”
    “No. I thought—I mean you were behind the desk.”
    “Don’t be embarrassed, Walton. I’m not.”
    “But you looked so big. So strong.”
    “I am strong. At least half of me is.”
    In spite of the doctor’s casual attitude toward his affliction, John-Boy was still flustered. He didn’t know what to say.
    “I’ve been scootin’ around in this little buggy for sixteen years now,” Dr. Miller smiled. “It keeps me in shape. But I know exactly what your mother’s going through. I was eighteen when it happened to me.” He laughed. “The hottest halfback on any football field in Virginia. And probably the cockiest. Then, one Saturday, after another Miller triumph, I had these strange pains in my back. Sunday I was completely paralyzed from the waist down.”
    “That’s how it was with my mother.”
    “That’s the pattern. And we stand by helplessly and hope for the best. What’s your mother’s doctor done so far?”
    “Well, he says there isn’t any medicine. He put splints on her legs today.”
    “He’s right about the medicine. And leg splints are the accepted approach. Nobody knows whether it really helps.” He smiled ruefully and rubbed his chin.
    “Dr. Miller, my teacher in Walton’s Mountain, Miss Hunter, she says she read in the newspaper about a new treatment a woman has—someone called her Sister Kenny.”
    “Oh, yes, the Australian nurse. We’re just starting to check into her methods. She claims an extraordinary recovery rate. But so far there’s been no scientific verification of her claims. This doesn’t mean her treatment doesn’t work, of course. Only that she hasn’t conducted them under scientific controls that would prove her claims one way or the other. She’s attracted quite a bit of controversy.”
    “Is there any place I could find out more about her and the treatment?”
    “Well, the fact is nobody knows a whole lot about it yet.”
    “Do you know where she is in Australia? Some place I could write to her?”
    Dr. Miller thought for a minute, then suddenly swung the wheelchair and moved back behind his desk. “Tell you what—you leave me your name and address. I’ll try to get hold of a couple pamphlets that detail her procedures and mail them to you. At least you can show them to your doctor and see what he thinks.”
    “I’ll be endurin’ grateful to you, Doctor.”
    “No trouble. We’re all in this together. I just wish I could get up there and examine her myself. You say she can sit up already?”
    “Almost. She’s workin’ hard at it.”
    “Mrs. Walton sounds like quite a lady.”
    “She is.”
    Dr. Miller smiled and stuck out a big calloused hand. “And I think you’re quite a young man, Walton. I’m glad you came in. And I’m going to look forward to seeing you around the campus here.”
    John-Boy felt good when Sheriff Bridges picked him up. He knew he shouldn’t let his hopes about the Sister Kenny treatment get too high. But at least he was doing something. The worst part of the last few days had been the feeling of helplessness—that there was nothing they could do but sit by and watch their mother suffer.
    And he was also pleased with what he had seen of the Boatwright College campus. He didn’t feel nearly so out of place when he came out of the medical building and crossed the campus again. Imagine that girl in the admissions office asking him if he had a date for the dance!
    “What you smilin’ about, John-Boy?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I just