No More Bullies Read Free

okay?” Gene yelled loudly.
    Joyce pushed herself back up in the seat. She put her hands under her bulging abdomen and pulled gently. “Yes, I think so.” She straightened her rumpled, heavy coat covering the baby. “I don’t think we hit the dashboard.”
    Gene let his head drop backward on the top of the seat as he exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank You, Lord.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    Nothing came to mind. “I don’t know, but I better find out.”
    â€œYes, please .” Joyce winced as she felt another contraction grip her body.
    Gene reached for his wool cap. “Stay right here. I’ll see what we’re looking at.” He put on the cap and grabbed his wool scarf. “Make sure the car keeps running so the heater will work; give it some gas once in a while so it doesn’t stall.”
    â€œYou be careful.”
    â€œI will. Don’t worry.” He wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck, put on his gloves, and opened the car door. The bitter cold air, filled with icy flakes, poured into the car as if into a vacuum. He quickly stepped out into the snow, slamming the door behind him.
    The Ford’s headlights lit the area in front of the car, but it was difficult to see into the front wheel well. As Gene’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he stooped down, felt for the tire—and felt nothing. No tire, no wheel. Only the lug nuts remained, still fastened to the brake drum. He squinted in the darkness, peering through the blowing snow, trying to trace any track the departing wheel might have left. It could have landed in a nearby ditch, but searching for it would be next to impossible.
    The car had a spare, mounted on a wheel, of course, so that option made perfect sense. He could replace the lost wheel with the spare, just as if he were changing a flat tire. Tomorrow in the daylight, after Joyce and their new baby were comfortable in the hospital, he could return and maybe find his other tire.
    The trunk lid groaned and snapped away the ice in its seams as Gene opened it. He groped, found the spare, then loosened the clamp and pulled it out. He let it bounce on the ice—Good! It still has air in it!—then rolled it to the front of the car where he leaned it against the fender to keep it out of the snow. Now for the tire jack. He shuffled back through the snow to the trunk.
    He quickly found a tire iron, but his groping hand couldn’t encounter a jack no matter where he searched.
    Then it hit him, like a sledgehammer in the stomach: I left the tire jack in the school bus!
    He’d been driving the school bus to make some extra income—pastors of small, rural churches often did that sort of thing—and he’d needed the jack aboard the bus last week. That’s where it was, right where he’d left it. He sagged against the rear of the car, filled with frustration for such an oversight. His wife was in labor, their car was slouched forward on three wheels, it was thirty-two below, it was dark, and he had to replace a tire without a jack!
    What to do, what to do? Think! He looked through the car window. Joyce had leaned back on the front seat, her eyes closed, no doubt confident that her loving husband could rectify whatever the trouble was and they’d soon be on their way to the hospital. No use in frightening her. Let her rest.
    What to do? He prayed, “Oh, Lord, help us. There’s nobody around for miles, and we’re about to have a baby in the freezing cold. What can I do?”
    Looking around for an answer, any answer, his eyes fell on a road sign just within the car’s headlights, a yellow diamond with a bent black arrow advising of a left turn ahead. It was bolted to a four-inch-by-four-inch post. A long post. Eight feet of it was above the ground, and there had to be at least another two feet under the ground.
    A lever.
    He needed a fulcrum. He peered into the dark trunk and spied his old,