Under His Wings

Molly Franklin woke with a start and pushed her blonde hair out of her face. The sound of Lucy’s barking stabbed through her head, and the clicking of doggie nails on the linoleum floor accentuated the clamor. Her corgi mix’s brown eyes, within inches of her own, looked back with concern. What could be roaming the campground at this time of night? Pulling the cord on the bedside lamp, she inspected the large cabin interior and didn’t see anything amiss. Was there a bear or raccoon on the porch foraging for food? “Lucy, calm down. I’m awake!”

Lucy looked back seriously, as if to say, “There is a problem that needs to be checked out!”

Peeking through the window, Molly saw a figure lying on the porch with a hand outstretched toward the door. She picked up a broom and cautiously opened the door. Lucy poked her nose through the opening and barked again, her tail wagging vigorously. Molly recognized Calvin Smithton, the town’s drunk—not much to look at when he was awake and even less attractive when unconscious. His beady gray eyes were slightly open and moved rapidly under his lids. The left corner of his mouth hung open and his denture protruded. A patch of coarse gray hair grew out of his left ear as if to make up for the lack of it on his head. A strong odor of unwashed body mixed with eau de cheap liquor wafted from his prone figure. He was not a wonderful sight to find on your porch at two o’clock in the morning.

Molly felt Calvin’s neck gingerly for a pulse. It throbbed merrily against her finger. At her touch, Calvin opened his eyes, squinted up, and muttered, “Krunk!” His head then rolled slightly to the side and his eyes rolled back. An abrasion on his right forehead seeped slightly. It looked like a new wound. Quickly inspecting his skull, she noted a goose egg.

“Calvin, did you visit the wrong person?”

Better call 911, she thought, stepping away from him. As she turned, she heard a mewl from the edge of the porch. Oh no! What had Calvin brought with him? Peering over the edge, she gasped at the untidy bunch of rags cradling a baby in a raggedy basket.

“Good grief! What is Calvin doing with a baby?”

She rushed down the stairs, picked up the basket, and looked into new baby-blue eyes. The baby sucked on a fat fist and looked back. Molly glanced around the yard and saw nothing to add to the story, so she ran up the four stairs with the burden and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed 911, barely able to take her eyes from the baby.

“Dispatcher, this is Molly Franklin. I’m at cabin six down at Lemke’s Lake. I found Calvin Smithton on my porch with two wounds to his head. He’s breathing okay and did wake up to say ‘krunk’ before again losing consciousness. But he has a newborn baby with him. After I get off the phone, I’ll check the baby out. I am a nursery nurse and can stabilize it, if needed. I left Calvin on the porch, so please hurry!”

Leaving the phone on, Molly spread a newspaper on the kitchen table and placed the basket on it. Pushing aside the rags covering the baby, she noted a wad of paper towels wrapped around the infant’s umbilical cord. A dirty string was tied tightly around the cord about two inches from the baby’s abdomen. Further inspection revealed a baby girl with all her fingers and toes. The baby’s body still had remnants of blood matted in her hair and in her armpits. Molly checked all the vital assessments required—strong pulses, pink color, and steady breathing.

Molly got the thermometer from the cabin’s first-aid kit, checked the baby’s rectal temperature, and saw that the baby was slightly cold. Dark feces came out with the thermometer, so that system seemed okay. She found several clean towels and wiped away the moisture from the baby’s body. Using an old sweatshirt, she snugly wrapped the baby, making sure that the hoodie was over her head. The baby cried heartily at such treatment and then quieted down after being wrapped.

All baby priorities were taken care of for the moment. Now for the next priority—Calvin. Who knew what condition he would be in on the porch? Adults were not her favorite kind of patient. They could be argumentative and uncooperative and often were not cute.

The police sirens shrilled nearby and she breathed a sigh of relief. Good! Calvin and his baby could be their problem. Right now, she needed to get dressed. The sheriff might not take her seriously in footed Eeyore pajamas. Her nursing priorities might not be done, however. Usually babies were accompanied by mothers who also needed care. Maybe next she should look for a recovering mother in the woods.

The police car headlights were directed toward the porch and continued to provide harsh light after the engine was turned off. Sheriff John French hurried up the front path and met Molly as she stepped out her kitchen door. A familiar face to Molly, the lawman had served the county as long as Molly had been coming to the cabin. Tall, with thick iron-gray hair, this ex-marine was a no-nonsense kind of guy who kept his county orderly and clean. He rarely smiled, but his boisterous laugh when it came invited listeners to smile and chortle along.

Molly pointed to Calvin, still unconscious on the porch. “There’s problem number one. Problem number two is on my kitchen table. I haven’t had time to check for any other problems, but feel free to look.”