No Water! Part 3

Sick and exhausted, my dad (Bob Cousart) had discovered that their reservoir up on the mountain above the Bethel Beach Children's Home was dry. Farther upstream, someone had built a bigger dam, completely blocking the stream. In her own words, my mother's story continues:

Bob struggled on through the waist-deep snow. At last, the highway came in sight. As he attempted to climb over the high snow berm, he slipped in the soft snow. He clawed his way back to the top and slid down the other side of the berm to the highway.

By this time, it was snowing again. He groaned to see the driveway rapidly filling with snow again. Slipping and sliding down toward the big house, he finally staggered up the stairs and through the back door into the kitchen.

I looked up from the counter where I had begun to prepare the evening meal. Seeing his sagging shoulders and the despair of defeat on his countenance, I helped him out of his snowy outer garments and asked gently, "Did you find the trouble, honey?"

"Yes." A groaned escaped his lips. "Someone has dammed up the whole stream. There was nothing I could do about it." Then he added sheepishly, "Unless I had some dynamite!" A chill shook his frame.

"Oh, honey!" I exclaimed. "If only I could run a tub of hot water for you!"

"I'm too tired, anyway. All I want to do is go to bed."

I tucked an electric heating pad and a hot water bottle in bed with him. Immediately, he dropped off to sleep.

About an hour later, I went into the bedroom and discovered he had thrown off all his covers. He was thrashing around on the bed, moaning and groaning. The room was cold, so I quickly covered him up, but he threw the blankets off again.

When I touched his forehead, he felt extremely hot. I managed to insert a thermometer into his mouth for a few seconds. It read 103 degrees! What could I do?

I went to the wall phone and took the bell-shaped receiver off the hook. Thankful that no one was on the party line, I called our pastor to ask for prayer. No answer.

Next, I called the doctor's office and then his home. No answer.

When I returned to the bedroom, my husband's condition seemed to be worse. He had tossed off his covers again, and his forehead felt hotter. Again, I tried to take his temperature. In less than 30 seconds, it registered 103.6.

I stood over him, crying and praying. The children, wide-eyed and scared, gathered around the bed. Trying not to frighten them further, I told them all to pray while I went to the phone again. Still no answer.

I looked out the window. The front porch light shone into the darkness outside. Fat, wet snowflakes plummeted to the ground. The driveway was now completely filled in. No way could I drive the car out even if I could manage to get Bob into it. Our nearest neighbor, a frail, 86-year-old lady, lived alone in a tiny house almost a block away.

Back in the bedroom, I knelt by the bed, and the children did too. "Oh, Jesus, help us!" I prayed. "Oh, dear Jesus, please heal my darling!"

Have you ever been in desperate need of help? Tell me about it.

To be continued!