“Harry! Come quick! There’s somethin’ wrong with the baby!” She was almost hysterical.

He ran to her quickly, concern on his face. “Just hold on and calm down!” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Jennie!” she gasped, out of breath. “She just lies there! Won’t move, won’t stir, nothin’!”

He thought frantically. “All right, now, you get Jeb Ferman—he’s got some lifesavin’ trainin’. Did you call the doctor?”

She nodded. “But he’ll be fifteen, twenty minutes coming from Snyder! Harry—please come!”

He kissed her, told her to get Ferman and join him at the house. Jeb had once been a medic in the Army, and was head of the local volunteer fire department.

In a few minutes, they were all at the house.

It wasn’t that the child was quiet; in many circumstances parents would consider that a blessing. Nor was she asleep—her eyes were open, and seemed to follow Jeb Ferman’s finger.

She just didn’t move otherwise. No twitching, no turning, not even of the head. Nothing. It was as if the tiny girl, no more than ten weeks old, was totally paralyzed.

Jeb shook his head in confusion. “I just don’t understand this at all,” he muttered.

By the time the doctor arrived from two towns over, Jennie was no better, and her eyes seemed glazed.

While they all clustered around as the man checked everything he could, the concerned mother suddenly felt dizzy and swooned almost into her husband’s arms. They got her onto the sofa.

“It’s just been too much for me today,” she said weakly. “I’ll be all right in a minute. I’ve just got this damned dizziness.” Her head went back against a small embroidered pillow. “God! My head is killing me!”

The doctor was concerned. “I’ll give her a mild sedative,” he told her husband. “As for Jennie—well, I think I’d better get her into a hospital as quickly as possible. It’s probably nothing, but at this age almost anything could happen. I’d rather take no chances.”