56
I came home after my visit with Reverend Sam to find Ruth sitting at the desk in the library working on her scrapbook. I needed to clear the air between us and I took a deep breath as I stood in the doorway.
“Ruth,” I said, “I want to apologize for upsetting you after Lucy’s funeral yesterday.”
She didn’t lift her head from her work as she pasted a small news article into the scrapbook. “I shouldn’t have made a scene in front of everyone,” she admitted, surprising me. “That sort of discussion should be private. Now let’s close the subject.” She whisked me away with her hand.
I stood there another moment before leaving the doorway, then I crossed the foyer and climbed the steps to my room. I was surprised by her near apology. It had been more than I’d expected.
At dinner that night, though, she insisted on having a place set for Lucy across the table from me. Henry acted as though nothing were amiss, but Hattie and I exchanged a look. Either Ruth wanted to keep a place open for Lucy because she couldn’t bear the loss, or this was her way of reminding me of my role in her death. We could close the subject, as Ruth had said, but I had the feeling the empty chair at the table was going to keep it open for all time.
* * *
Two days later, I was reading in the upstairs parlor when Henry came home from the factory. I heard him on the stairs and it sounded as if he were taking them two at a time. He was nearly breathless when he walked into the room.
“Have you listened to the radio today?” he asked, and I closed my book, instantly on edge.
“Is there news from Europe?” I asked. Every day, the Allied forces were advancing on one town or another, and I only hoped that whatever news Henry had was good. I couldn’t tell from his expression.
“No, no,” he said, sitting down on the arm of one of the upholstered chairs. “Nothing about the war. It’s about the polio epidemic. There’s going to be a meeting tonight at the high school. Everyone in town is supposed to be there. The Lake Hickory Fresh Air Camp’s being turned into a hospital for polio patients.”
“Really?” I frowned. I’d seen the Fresh Air Camp where underprivileged children played and swam during the summer. The only building I recalled being on that property was a small stone structure that could hardly be turned into a hospital. “That building is tiny,” I said. “How can it be a hospital?”
“They’re adding on to it,” he said. “Do you know who H. C. Whims is?”
“The public health doctor for the county?”
“Right. He met with some men from the National Polio Foundation this morning. Charlotte won’t take any more patients and since most of the sick kids are from this area, they decided to look in Hickory for a building they could convert into a hospital. But it’s going to have to happen fast.” I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so excited. “Lumber’s already on its way for a second structure,” he said. “I’ve been working at the camp this afternoon. Zeke too. And I’ve let some of my men take off to help. They’re over there, working.” He sounded like a man with a purpose. “It’s going to take all of Hickory to make this happen,”
I’d clearly missed a lot by not listening to the radio. “Are you going to the meeting?” I asked.
“Yes, and you are too.” He stood up. “My mother as well. Everyone’s supposed to be there. I’m sure Adora will go, so I can give her the money for the headstone if I see her.”
“Oh,” I said. “I actually took care of that.”
He looked down at me, confusion on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“I withdrew forty dollars from my bank account—that’s about the amount that was lost in the accident—and I took it to her.”
“You went to Ridgeview?” He frowned. “How did you get there?”
“I took a cab there and the bus back,” I said. I could tell he wasn’t pleased.
“You didn’t need to do that,” he said. “I would have gotten the money to them eventually.”
“I wanted to do it for Lucy,” I said. “And I know you’ve been busy, so I—”
“You shouldn’t go to that neighborhood,” he said.
“I don’t mind at all,” I said. “Lucy said your family takes care of Adora, so I can take them food sometimes, and—”
“It’s not for you to do,” he said. “You don’t even know them.”
“Well, I’m getting to know them,” I said, annoyed. “Jilly’s so adorable. She has that white doll and I know of a place in Baltimore where I may be able to get her a colored doll. Gina can buy it for me. Don’t you think that would be—”
“I think you need to stay out of their lives.” His cheeks were suddenly blotchy with color. “Maybe y’all mixed like that where you’re from but we don’t do that here. All right?”
I bristled. “No, we didn’t ‘mix’ where I’m from,” I said. “But Lucy—”
“Lucy’s dead,” he said bluntly as he walked toward the door.
“Adora told me about the day she saved your life,” I said, just as bluntly. I wanted to bring him down off his high horse. “And she told me how other kids picked on you and how Zeke and Honor were your only friends.”
He glared at me. “Adora isn’t the official historian of my life, all right?” he said. “And I don’t want you going there again.”
I thought it was a good thing that he left the room before I had a chance to answer. I felt like an oppositional child. The more he told me not to do something the more I wanted to do it. I hoped Gina could find that doll. I couldn’t wait for it to arrive. I couldn’t wait to take it to Jilly.
57
Henry, Ruth, and I arrived at the high-school auditorium that evening to find it already packed with people from the town, colored in the balcony, white in the floor seats. Ruth sat on the other side of Henry from me, her hands rigidly clasped over her handbag on her lap. She’d been horrified when Henry told her about the plans for the hospital.
“That’s a terrible idea!” she’d said as we talked about it over dinner. “Why can’t they do it in some other town? Why Hickory?”
“Why not Hickory?” Henry had argued. “It’s central to the all the polio cases that have turned up.”
“So now Hickory will be known as the town full of polio germs.” Ruth had pouted. “I can think of a hundred more suitable locations for a hospital, and none of them are in Hickory!”
I looked around the packed auditorium and wondered how many other people in the audience shared her worries about bringing polio patients to Hickory.
Henry, though, seemed unconcerned. He pointed toward the stage, where three men were sitting, waiting for everyone to take their seats. “The man on the left is Whims,” Henry said. “The fella next to him is Hahn and the third is Crabtree.”
“Three shortsighted men,” Ruth muttered.
We watched as Dr. Whims stood up and walked to the podium. He thanked everyone for coming and laid out the problem—the ever-increasing number of polio cases in the area surrounding Hickory.
“We need a solution and we need it now,” he said. “Dr. Hahn and Dr. Crabtree and I talked about using one of the buildings that already exist in town, but we crossed each of them off our list for one reason or another. So our focus is now on the Fresh Air Camp. I contacted the director there this afternoon and within forty-five minutes the camp’s children were evacuated and driven home by volunteers.” He smiled. “And that’s the word of the day: volunteers. It’s going to take all of us to pull together to make this hospital a reality, which is why we’re meeting with y’all here tonight. I’m in charge of upgrading the existing building at the camp and coming up with the new construction we’ll need. On very short notice, local architects Mr. and Mrs. Q. E. Herman, whom I’m sure many of you know, are at this moment drawing up plans for the new buildings and lumber has already arrived. Tomorrow the fire department will install hydrants. Governor Broughton is sending prisoners from the state prison to dig trenches for sewer lines.” There was
an audible buzz from the audience before he added, “Under supervision, of course.” He checked his notes. “The telephone company is donating and installing a switchboard, and the National Guard arrives tomorrow to begin clearing trees for the new buildings.”
I was stunned. All this had been set in motion in half a day?
“Now, how can y’all help?” Dr. Whims asked. “We need all of you—every single one of you—to think of ways you can contribute. Dr. Hahn”—he motioned toward one of the men seated on the stage—“is in charge of getting the supplies for the hospital. In the community, we’ll need some of you ladies to make gowns, caps, and masks for the doctors and nurses—we must remember this is an extremely contagious and serious disease. We need donations: washing machines, wringers, hot plates, blankets, linens, beds, mattresses, and sundry other items. Keep an eye on the Hickory Daily Record and listen to WHKY to find out what items we’re looking for. We also need people to go door to door to collect those items, and until we get the kitchen up and running we’ll need you housewives to cook meals in your homes for the patients. We need volunteers to help with the phones and to greet people in the hospital’s reception area. And of course we’ll need nurses and doctors and physical therapists. Dr. Crabtree”—he turned to nod at the third man on stage—“is responsible for securing the medical staff, and most of them will be recruited by the Red Cross or the National Polio Foundation and will be coming from other parts of the country. I understand some of them are boarding trains even as we speak.”
I thought of Vincent and the work he’d done with polio patients in Chicago. If he didn’t now have a paying job at the Harriet Lane Hospital in Baltimore, he would probably still be volunteering somewhere. Maybe even here. My heart shivered. I forced the thought from my mind and replaced it with another: I wanted to be a nurse in this new hospital. I couldn’t simply sit at home while the need was so great. I sat up straighter. I was going to volunteer.
“Hotel Hickory can put up the nurses from outside the area,” Whims continued, “but please consider opening your homes to the other medical staff. The physicians and physical therapists and epidemiologists. We can do this. We can help our children. And speaking of the children”—he paused momentarily—“we won’t have the space to separate colored from white right away, so until we do, the facility will be integrated.” He held up his hands as if to stop any complaints before they began. “That can’t be helped,” he said. “We need to remember that polio knows no socioeconomic or racial lines. It affects all of our community and it will take all of us to fight it.”
* * *
I sat in the backseat of the car on our way home and for the first few minutes of the drive, the three of us were quiet. The meeting had given us a lot to take in.
Henry finally broke the silence. “After I drop you two off at the house,” he said, “I’m going back to the camp to help out.”
“At night?” Ruth queried. “What can you do at night?”
“They’re setting up floodlights,” he said. “We’ll be able to continue working even at night.”
“You were there all day,” Ruth said. “I think you need to get a good night’s sleep.”
“I wasn’t there all day,” Henry argued. “I was at the factory half the time. And we need to get this done, Mama. I can sleep once it’s up and running.”
I felt proud of him, and it was time for me to speak up myself.
“They need nurses,” I said. “I’m going to volunteer.”
Ruth scoffed. “No, you most certainly are not going to volunteer.”
“But I should,” I said. “I have the skills. It feels wrong for me not to—”
“You may not work there,” Ruth said firmly. “Did you hear what that man said? Extremely contagious? Colored children right next to white children? You’d get covered with polio germs and bring them home. If you absolutely must do something for that hospital, collect donations,” she said. “Did you know that Violet is collecting records and record players to send overseas for our servicemen? You can do something like that if you want to do something charitable.”
“Violet doesn’t have the skills I have,” I said before I could stop myself, and my words were greeted with a silence so heavy I felt it pressing down on my shoulders. What was going on with me today? I seemed unable to bite my tongue.
“Mama.” Henry finally spoke up, and by his tone I knew he was going to shift the topic, if only a bit. “How about offering our spare bedrooms to a couple of the doctors who’ll be coming?”
“I don’t want strangers in the house,” she said.
“I think we’re all going to need to make some sacrifices,” he said. “It won’t be forever.”
Ruth was quiet. “I’ll donate money,” she said finally. “I’ll write a check for a thousand dollars, all right? That’s the best I can do.”
Henry turned his head to glance back at me. “Mama’s right, Tess,” he said. “I don’t want you working in the hospital either. You can be one of those people who collects donations. They’re desperate for any help they can get.”
* * *
In bed that night I lay awake thinking about my life as it was right now. My secretive, money-hiding husband stayed out many more nights than it would take for him to work on the factory’s books. I had to face Lucy’s place setting at the table every night. I was hated by my mother-in-law and disliked by many people in town. I was unable to do the work I loved and I still longed for a man I couldn’t have.
I prickled at the memory of the car ride home. My nursing skills disparaged. Ruth and Henry telling me what I could and could not do. And then I remembered my last visit with Reverend Sam, how I’d felt listened to and comforted in his presence. I needed to see him again, I thought. Sooner rather than later.
58
Reverend Sam’s bronze eyes crinkled with amusement at finding me on his porch the next morning so soon after my last visit. I was soaked to the skin, my blouse, skirt, and nylons sticking uncomfortably to my body after running through a pouring rain from the taxi to his house.
“Are you too tired for a visit?” I asked, then rushed on. “I won’t make you work today, I promise. I just need a friend to talk to and I’m afraid you’re the only option.”
He laughed. “I’d never be too tired to talk to you,” he said, stepping back to let me in.
I walked inside and the ashy scent of the fireplace wrapped around me like a comfortable old robe.
“Since you’re not going to make me work,” he said, “why don’t we sit in the living room and I’ll pour us some sweet tea?”
“Thank you,” I said. “That would be wonderful.”
He left the room for the kitchen and I sat down on one of his two big sofas, sinking into the deep cushions that puffed up around my damp skin. I’d never had the chance to look around this room before, and I saw now that it was filled with a woman’s touch. Doilies on the tabletops. Elaborately framed photographs on the walls, crocheted afghans folded over the arms of the sofas. Reverend Sam’s wife was still alive in this room.
He returned to the living room with two tall glasses of sweet tea and took a seat on the other sofa.
“I can feel your wife here,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, then smiled, looking around. “Yes, she’s here. My sons tell me I should redecorate the whole house, or better yet, sell it and move to Charlotte to be closer to them, but…” He shook his head. “This is where I belong and this is the way I like my house.” He chuckled. “Could you imagine me and my skeleton in a house in the big city?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“This is home,” he said. “So what, my dear girl, is on your mind today?”
“Have you heard about the polio hospital they’re building at the Fresh Air Camp?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Hard to live in Hickory the past twenty-four hours and not hear about it. I know there was a big meeting last night, but…” He shook his head. “I preferred to st
ay home. Were you there?”
“Yes,” I said, “and really, it’s quite amazing—and maybe impossible—what these three doctors have managed to dream up in just a few hours. I don’t know how they’re ever going to be able to do what they’re proposing.” I held up my hands in wonder. “But to make it possible—to turn the camp into a hospital—it’s going to take a lot of volunteers. And one of the things they need desperately are nurses. And I’m a nurse.”
“Ah,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “I’d forgotten that about you. How fitting.”
“I am,” I said. “And I want to volunteer there, but both my mother-in-law and my husband say no. They expect me to sit around all day doing nothing useful.” My voice broke, surprising me. “I’ve made so many mistakes, Reverend Sam.” I folded my hands together tightly in my lap. “I used to be proud of who I was. Now I’ve lost myself. I really need to do this.”
Reverend Sam looked at the ceiling for a long moment. Finally, he returned his gaze to me. “Your mother-in-law, I assume, is Lucy’s mother,” he said. There was sympathy in his voice. Sympathy for Ruth, not for me, and suddenly, I felt some of that sympathy myself. Ruth had lost her daughter. She was a cold and difficult woman—that was her nature—but she had to be suffering terribly over that loss. I lowered my eyes, feeling guilty for my negative feelings about her.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Lucy’s mother. She believes nursing is beneath me and that I’ll bring home germs and disease.”
“She’s a fearful person.”
I started to contradict him. Ruth never struck me as fearful, and yet … maybe it was fear that drove her. Fear of losing her status in Hickory. Fear of losing her friends. Her place in the world.