A Knight in Central Park(4)
Being the Holder of the Stones made her the lucky bride-to-be.
A heavy sigh escaped as she started off again, making her way through snow, wondering where she might find a brave, chivalrous soul who championed right against evil and injustice; a man who would never surrender or flinch in the face of the enemy.
She rolled her eyes. Such a chore would be about as easy as finding a snot-nosed ogre. But what choice did she have? If she failed to find help before the next full moon, she would be stuck here forever. That thought quickened her pace. For a year now she had been caring for her younger siblings and elderly grandfather. Every day of late she had prayed for an adventure; wishing she would be taken far from the endless responsibilities.
Be careful what you wish for, for there was no wonder in this adventure suddenly set before her; only a sick worry that gnawed on her bones and pierced her heart with dread.
The sounds of sloshing snow and the intermittent blowing of horns grew louder as she neared the street. One glance upward caused her jaw to fall and her heart to renew its vigorous beating. A massive tower of stone shadowed the people below; a stronghold larger than any castle she had ever seen. Aye, much larger.
She hurried on, her gaze holding fast to the magnificence of such a fortress. As she stepped close to the busy street, the soles of her slippers failed to grip the icy ground. She fell hard and fast. A sharp pain shot through her leg. The ear-piercing blare of another trumpet sounded. She looked up in time to see a gigantic glistening contraption headed straight for her.
“Watch out!” Shelly screamed when a pedestrian exiting Central Park suddenly leapt into the street. Or maybe the person fell, it was hard to tell.
Joe McFarland hit the brakes, causing the car to swerve on the ice-covered road. Keeping a tight grasp on the wheel, he let up on the brakes and prayed the tires would grip pavement. He flattened his palm hard on the horn, and then heard a horrifying thunk.
“Oh, my God!” Shelly cried. “Did you kill her?”
Joe shoved the door open. He sloshed through the snow as he made his way to the front end of his Explorer. Shelly was right. It was a woman. Her clothes were ragged and stained. Instead of shoes, she wore strange looking slippers. The woman looked like one of the many homeless people who inhabited the park. Her clothes and fingernails were dirty, her hair uncombed.
He went down on bended knee and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Don’t die,” he said.
“Is she breathing?” Shelly asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not getting a pulse. Call 911.”
Joe ignored the intermittent honks and shouts of people in their cars, upset with the delay in traffic, having no idea that someone was hurt.
Unable to find a pulse, he leaned forward, placed his hand beneath the woman’s neck, and covered her mouth with his. Her lips were soft. He released three short breaths, waited, then repeated the process. Her eyes fluttered open before he had time to think of what to do next.
He exhaled; his warm breath a puff of white mist before it evaporated.
The woman stared at him, her eyes curious.
“You’ve been in an accident,” he told her, thankful he hadn’t killed her. “I’m Joe McFarland. I tried to steer away from you.”
“Thank goodness she’s alive,” Shelly said as she moved to his side. “An ambulance is on the way.”
The woman tried to sit up. “’Tis not a lance I need, my lady, but the knight carrying the lance.”
Shelly raised a bewildered brow.
“’Twould be kind of you to help me up,” the woman said, “I am in a dreadful hurry.”
Joe didn’t move. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Ignoring his warning, the woman struggled to get to her feet. Her legs buckled, leaving him with no choice but to catch her in his arms.
A stern looking man behind the wheel of a beat-up truck shouted for them to get off the street. Shelly raised a fist and shook it at him.
Joe didn’t like the idea of moving the injured woman, but he couldn’t very well leave her on the cold ground either so he carried her to the passenger side of his Explorer. Shelly opened the door so he could place the woman on the seat.
As far as he could tell, she wasn’t bleeding. No obvious signs of external damage, other than her odd dialect. That and the fact that she was examining his car’s interior with a fascination usually reserved for small children on their first trip to Disneyland. He admonished himself for stiffening when her dirty fingers glided over the leather interior. She was alive and that’s all that mattered. Thank God he hadn’t killed her, was the mantra running through his mind.