"She's lost her mind," people whispered. "She can barely feed herself and her child, and she takes in a vagrant. He's probably dangerous. Mark my words, something bad will come of this. What kind of example is she setting for that little girl? Teaching her to be a doormat."
Mr. Henderson was particularly vocal. "Margaret's always been soft-headed," he told anyone who'd listen. "Now she's proving it. That man is taking advantage of her kindness. He'll rob them blind and disappear one day, you watch."
But Margaret held her head high when she walked through town. Sarah walked beside her, proud of her mama for doing what was right, even when everyone said it was wrong.
Two months passed. The old man gained some weight, though he was still thin. His sores healed. His mind seemed a bit clearer, though his memories remained locked away. He helped around the house as much as he could: fixing things that were broken, teaching Sarah new things, keeping Margaret company on evenings when she was too tired to do anything but sit. They had become, in a strange way, a family.
Then one afternoon in late August, disaster struck. The old man had been trying to help Margaret fix the fence that surrounded their tiny yard. The fence had been broken for months, and Margaret had been meaning to repair it but never had the time or energy.
"Please let me help," he'd insisted. "You've done so much for me. Let me do this one thing."
Margaret had agreed reluctantly. She was inside the house mending Sarah's school clothes for the coming school year. Sarah was at the community center attending a free summer program that Pastor Williams ran for local children.
Margaret heard the cry of pain, then the heavy thud of something falling. She ran outside to find the old man collapsed on the ground, clutching his head, his face contorted in agony.
"Sir! Sir, what's wrong?" She dropped to her knees beside him, shaking his shoulder.
His eyes rolled back. His breathing became shallow and rapid. Sweat poured down his face even though the afternoon wasn't particularly hot.
"Oh God, oh God," Margaret whispered. She knew this was serious. This wasn't just exhaustion or dehydration. This was something worse.
She ran to the neighbors, pounding on doors. "Help! Please, I need help! He's collapsed!"
Most people ignored her, closing their doors firmly. Finally, young Emma's mother, Mrs. Davis, came out.
"Margaret, what's wrong?"
"He's collapsed. I think he's had a stroke or something. I need to call an ambulance, but I don't have a phone. Please, Mrs. Davis, please let me use yours."
Mrs. Davis hesitated, glancing back at her own house where her husband was surely listening, but she saw the desperation in Margaret's face. "Come on," she said.
Margaret called for an ambulance, her hands shaking so badly she could barely dial the numbers. Then she ran back to the old man. Sarah had come running from the community center, having heard the commotion.
"Mama, what's wrong? What happened?"
"I don't know, baby. He just collapsed. The ambulance is coming."
They sat with him, holding his hands, talking to him even though he couldn't respond. His skin had turned grayish, his lips were taking on a blue tinge. The ambulance arrived, but the paramedics weren't optimistic when they saw him.
"How long has he been like this?"
"Maybe twenty minutes," Margaret said.
"Do you know his medical history? Any medications?"
"No, nothing. He doesn't remember anything. He has amnesia."
The paramedics exchanged glances. "Does he have insurance? Identification?"
Margaret's heart sank. "No. Nothing."
"Ma'am, we'll take him to County General, but without insurance, without ID, they might not be able to do much. The hospital will require payment guarantees for anything beyond stabilization."
"I'll pay," Margaret said, the words coming out before she could think about what they meant. "Whatever it costs, I'll find a way. Just please save him."
At the hospital, a tired-looking doctor examined the old man and confirmed Margaret's fears. He'd suffered a stroke, likely caused by years of poor health, malnutrition, and stress. He needed immediate treatment, possibly surgery, definitely extended hospitalization.
The hospital administrator, a thin woman with cold eyes, pulled Margaret aside. "Mrs. Henderson, we have a problem. Your friend needs extensive medical care. We're talking about tens of thousands of dollars, possibly more. Without insurance, without any way to pay, we can only stabilize him, and then he'll need to be transferred."
"Transferred where?"
"To a charity hospital. Or back to wherever he came from."