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Even as I spoke I planned the way. "Carrie, do

exactly as I say. Don't lean to the right or to the left.

Lie flat on your stomach, aim for my voice. I'm going

to crawl in to you and take hold of you under your

arms. Raise your head high so your face won't be

scraped. Dr. Paul will grab hold of my ankles and pull

us both out."

"Tell her it's going to hurt her leg."

"Did you hear Dr. Paul, Carrie? It's going to

hurt your leg so please don't thrash about if you feel

pain; everything will be over in a second or two and

Dr. Paul will make your leg well again."

It seemed to take hours for me to inch down that

tunnel while the crates teetered and rocked, and when

I had her by the shoulders I heard Dr. Paul cry out, "Okay, Cathy!" Then he pulled, fast and hard! Down thundered the wooden crates! Dust flew everywhere. In the confusion I was at Carrie's side, removing the

gag and blindfold while the doctor untied her bonds. Then Carrie was clinging to me, blinking

because the light hurt, crying from the pain, terrified

to see the teachers and her leg so crooked.

In the ambulance that came to take Carrie to the

hospital Chris and I rode and shared the same stool,

each of us holding one of Carrie's hands. Paul

followed in his white car so he'd be there to supervise

the orthopedist who would set Carrie's broken leg.

Lying face upward on the pillow near her head with

fixed smiles and rigid bodies were Carrie's three dolls.

That's when I remembered. Now the crib was missing

too, just as the cradle had disappeared years ago. Carrie's broken leg spoiled the long summer

vacation trip our doctor had planned for all of us.

Again I raged inwardly at Momma. Her fault; always

we were punished for what she'd caused! It wasn't fair