Nothing.
Setting down the pan, David moved to the door and opened it slowly, half expecting to see a stray pooch there, looking for a home. Maybe it had smelled the cookies….
What he saw stopped his heart.
“Ellen?” He knew it was her. But he didn’t recognize her at all.
The girl was a mess. Her clothes were torn. Her eyes and lips swollen. Her short blond hair was plastered to her head, except for a couple of places where it was sticking straight up.
What kind of accident could have done this to her?
“Honey?”
She didn’t respond. Just stood there. Staring blankly at the doorjamb as though she was seeing something far away—or deep inside herself.
He wasn’t sure she knew where she was.
“Ellen.” He spoke more firmly. He was afraid to touch her. And yet he had to find out what had happened. The extent of her injuries. She could have broken bones or be bleeding internally. “Come inside, child.”
He had to get her into the light. Get her to talk. Get help.
Keeping a tight grip on his heart, he forced logical thought to take over. This wasn’t Ellen. It wasn’t a child. Wasn’t his parishioner. Or the daughter of Martha Moore. This was simply a hurt human being in need of help.
Slowly, she took a step forward. Stumbled. Whimpered.
David’s hands flew out, catching her as she started to fall. Taking all her weight upon himself, he half carried her inside. With her head buried against his shoulder, the sounds she made were unintelligible. He had no idea if she was trying to speak or protesting painful movement.
“It’s okay, honey,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him as he guided her gently to a chair in the kitchen. “I’ll call your mother.”
“No.” She refused to sit down, buried her face more completely in the crook of his elbow. Her next words were mumbled.
“What?” he asked, holding her by the arms as he freed her face enough to look at her. “I didn’t get that.”
“The light’s too bright,” she said, and started to sob. “Please,” she hiccupped. “No light. And no calls.”
“I need the light, Ellen. I need to get a look at you. And call for help.”
“No!” she shrieked. “No calls. No one…” She started to cry again. “No one but you.”
Her insistence struck fear in the heart he’d silenced, filling his mind with dreadful suspicion.
“You need to see a doctor, honey! We need to know how badly injured you are.”
“No! I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” But he had a horrible feeling the calls could wait, that Ellen’s most serious injuries weren’t physical. Authority came through out of necessity. “You need to tell me what happened, Ellen. Now.”
A fresh spate of sobs erupted, and she clutched the sleeve of his shirt with her fingers.
“Tell me, honey,” he said, growing more and more certain that he wasn’t ready to hear what he suspected she would—eventually—tell him.
An agonizing couple of minutes passed while she cried, then took a deep breath, only to choke on another outburst of agony.
“You have to tell me what happened, Ellen.” David forced as much calm into the words as his thick throat allowed. “You need help.”
“I—” She broke off, tightening her grip on his shirt as she lifted her head enough to look up at him. “Only…you.” She stumbled over the words. “Only you.”
Because he knew he had no choice, David nodded. “I’m the only one here.”