<TITLE>17. Par 55-56</TITLE>L-55 And after while, as soon as I could get over--the water dropped enough that they could get me across. I got to Charlestown. I was looking.
I met old--an old friend of mine. He said, "No, that train never washed off." Said, "They went through, but I don't know where they're at."
I went down, the dispatcher told me, said, "A mother and two sick children? I put them off in Columbus, Indiana. But you can't get to them." Said, "The water's cut off this side."
I started walking back down the road, rubbing my hands crying, saying, "Oh, God. Take me. Don't let me suffer. Let... Take me, Lord. Don't let me have to go through this agony."
Walking down the road, and a man drove up to me in a car. He said, "I know what you're looking for." Said, "You're looking for your wife, aren't you?"
I said, "Yes."
He said, "Don't you know me?" Said, "I--I go with Mary May over there."
I said, "Yes, I remember you."
Said, "Your wife is dying in the Baptist church at Columbus, Indiana."
And I said, "Surely not."
Said, "Yes," said, "She's got tuberculosis." And said, "You wouldn't even know her. And the doctor says she's going to die. She's laying right next to my girlfriend." He said, "I know how to get you there if you want to go."
And I said, "Well, let's go, brother."
And I remember that night when I run into the building up there, the Baptist; they made a hospital. They had army cots everywhere. And I run in there, boots on where we waded the water. And I begin to scream, "Hope, Hope, where are you honey? Where are you?" Just beside myself. Directly I looked over there, and I seen an old bony hand raise up. It was her. I run over real quick to her and grabbed her up in my arms. I said, "Is the children alive?"
She said, "Yes." She said, "I look awful, don't I?"
I said, "No, honey. You look good." I said, "My, you're going to be all right."
I felt somebody tap me on the back. And I looked, and it was a--looked like a doctor. He said, "Come here." He said, "Are you her husband?"
And I said, "Yes, sir."
"You Reverend Branham?"
I said, "I am."
He said, "Well, sir. I hate to break this news to you, but," said, "your wife's dying." Said, "Don't get her excited or anything."
I said, "Doctor, surely not."
Said, "Yes." Said, "She's going."
And I said, "Oh, what is it, doctor?"
Said, "Galloping tuberculosis." Said, "She'll just die right away." He said, "Just--just ma... Just make her feel good as you can." He said, "And both of your babies are sick. I'm tending to them over here in another home."
Well, I went back and told her. I said, "Honey, you look good."

L-56 And a little doctor friend of mine, Doctor Sam Adair there in Jeffersonville. Soon as he'd let me, I brought them back down home. And there, they laid there until the babies got well; the wife gradually went away. Finally we got her in the hospital. I had doctors to come look at her. There wasn't nothing could be done. She took pneumothorax treatments and everything. Nothing could be done.
And I remember standing there, and they bore holes down through her side, and put that tube in there and get collapsed one lung.
Listen. If I had it... She'd hold my hand and cry, and the tears roll down her cheeks. She'd look at me, just suffering. Never done a bit of good. If I had to go over it; I'd never go through with it again. That's right. As she's holding my hand...


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