“What the hell is that?” He pointed toward the doll.
“I ordered it for Jilly,” I said, then rushed on. “Don’t be angry. I know you said you don’t want me to do anything for that family, but I couldn’t resist this, Henry. And now Jilly’s losing that doll she loves—she’s losing all her toys—and this is just perfect, don’t you think?”
I expected him to chew me out. Instead, a smile slowly spread across his face. “She’ll like it,” he said, crossing the room to the armoire. He opened the door. Searched through his shirts. “And the bathroom is now yours.”
* * *
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Honor said the next morning when I sat next to her on the bench to show her the doll. I thought it was as close as she had come to smiling since bringing Jilly into the hospital. She fingered the hem of the gingham dress, then looked at me. “I can’t believe you did this for her,” she said. “Thank you.”
True to her word, Honor seemed determined to spend all her time at the hospital. She rode in with Zeke early that morning and she’d talked someone in the kitchen into letting her work there in the afternoons. Jilly was still very tired, but her fever was slowly coming down and Dr. Matthews seemed even more certain that she had a mild case of the disease. Still, he was watching her carefully. Sometimes mild cases of polio improved for a few days, then suddenly turned deadly serious. He didn’t expect that to happen with Jilly, but he didn’t want to let her go home prematurely.
Honor touched the doll’s little white sock and gave me a worried look. “Won’t the doll have to be destroyed when Jilly gets better?” she asked.
I’d thought of that myself. The doll would need to be disinfected before it went home with Jilly. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.” I placed the lid back on the box. “Would you like to watch through the window when I give it to her?” I asked.
She nodded. “I would.”
I stood up and she grabbed my free hand.
“You’re a kind person,” she said.
I squeezed her hand. “I’ll let you know when I have a break to give her the doll,” I said. Then I left her on her bench to stay as close as she was able to get to her baby girl.
* * *
The hospital was bursting with new patients that morning, and the nurses, myself included, were overwhelmed with work. The Sister Kenny method, which we were all committed to now, was so time-consuming. How much easier it would be to have our patients’ legs and arms splinted and immobile than to wrap them in wool and exercise them several times each day. But I was determined to give my young patients the best chance at recovery they could have.
We received a second iron lung late that morning. Everyone had been nervous with only the one respirator, since that was still in use by our twenty-seven-year-old patient. What if we urgently needed another one? I helped the technician set it up. The other nurses were only too happy to let the respirators be my bailiwick.
Jilly was my least needy patient. I kept popping over to her bed to give her a little time and attention in between caring for my patients with paralysis. She knew who I was, despite my mask and cap, and I could tell that she liked me, but she still cried for her mother. It wasn’t until nearly noon that I had a few free minutes. I went out to the yard and motioned to Honor to go to the window. When I saw her appear at the screen, I propped Jilly up and handed her the doll. She stared at it with openmouthed wonder, then hugged it to her chest.
“Let’s give this one a name,” I said. “All right?”
“Nursie,” Jilly said.
“Nursie? Is that her name?”
“Yes. She got a little hat like a nurse hat.”
“You’re right,” I said, realizing that the doll’s hat did look a little like my own white cap. “Nursie it is. And Jilly. Look who’s at the window.” I pointed toward the window and Jilly followed my fingers to where Honor was waving at us.
“Mama!” she shouted, and I was delighted to see her energy.
“Shh.” I laughed. “Some people are trying to sleep, Jilly.”
“Mama! I got a doll!” She held the doll in the air. “Her name’s Nursie!”
Honor nodded and smiled but said nothing. She was not about to shout across the entire ward. She gave a final wave and disappeared from the window.
“Where’s she at?” Jilly asked.
“She’s going to work in the kitchen here, honey,” I said. “She’ll be one of the people who makes your dinner.”
“Will she bring it to me?”
“She can’t do that, but she’ll be in the kitchen, cooking it with love.”
* * *
I had to spend a bit more time in the admissions tent that afternoon, and when I returned to the ward, I was surprised to see Henry sitting on the edge of Jilly’s bed. Since he was working at the hospital, he—like Zeke—could go anywhere he pleased, but I was dismayed to see he was wearing no protective clothing whatsoever. Ruth would have a fit if she could see him at that moment. I walked toward Jilly’s bed, and as I drew close, I could hear her giggling over something Henry said to her.
She spotted me walking toward them. “Mr. Hank brung me a color book,” she said, and I saw the coloring book and small box of crayons next to her new doll on her lap.
Henry got quickly to his feet as though he knew I was going to chew him out for not wearing a gown and mask. He gave me a sheepish smile.
“That was nice of him,” I said to Jilly. I was wearing a mask, but I hoped Henry could see my own smile in my eyes. I was so touched that he’d reached out to Jilly this way.
“I need to get back to work, Jilly,” he said to the little girl. “Next time I stop by, maybe you’ll have a picture colored for me, huh?”
“Okay,” she said, already turning her attention from him to the coloring book. She dumped the crayons out of the box and onto her sheet.
I walked with Henry toward the exit.
“Next time,” I said, “you need to put on a gown and a mask.”
“Yes, nurse,” he said with a small salute, and I laughed.
He left the building and I watched him through the screened door as he walked toward the tent wards, still under construction. His attention to Jilly had been a side to him I hadn’t seen before and I felt nearly overcome with sadness that our baby hadn’t lived. Henry would have been a good father.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I soaked lengths of wool in boiling water for little Carol Ann’s paralyzed legs. I used sticks to feed the too-hot-to-touch wool through the wringer, then set it on a cart and wheeled it over to her bed. She whimpered as I began laying the fabric on top of her right leg. “Too hot, sweetheart?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
I knew the wool wasn’t technically too hot now—not hot enough to burn—but I could imagine how, on a stifling summer day, the weight and heat and stench of the wool could be suffocating.
Two new doctors had arrived that afternoon and one of them was making his way down the row of children, examining each one. He reached Carol Ann as I was still applying the wool. Like me, he was gowned and masked.
“I won’t leave it on too long, honey,” I said as I picked up another length of wool from the cart. “She’s a bit tired of all this wool,” I said to the doctor, who hadn’t said a word to either Carol Ann or myself. I looked at his eyes, the only part of him visible between his cap and his mask, and I gasped, my hands frozen in the air above Carol Ann’s legs. His eyes were a soft, rich brown and oh so familiar.
Vincent.
66
He was as stunned to see me as I was to see him. We stood there speechless, seemingly paralyzed ourselves, until Carol Ann whimpered again and I shook myself from my stupor.
“Yes, honey,” I said, tucking the ends of the wool around her thin legs. My hands trembled. “We’re finally done. And this is Dr. Russo,” I said. The name felt so good in my mouth. If I hadn’t turned my life upside down, that would be my name now. “D
r. Russo, this is Carol Ann.”
Vincent seemed to have trouble shifting his gaze from me to the little girl, but he collected himself and began examining her. “How are you feeling today, Carol Ann?” he asked.
“Hurt,” she said.
“Tell me where.”
“My back hurts,” she said.
“She’s a brave girl,” I said. “An excellent patient.” I looked down at Carol Ann. “We’ll let the wool warm up your muscles,” I said. “And I’ll be back in a little bit to do your exercises with you.”
I started to roll the cart toward the rear of the ward, anxious to get away from Vincent. I needed to be alone. I needed to collect my thoughts and settle my nerves.
“I want to talk with you later, nurse,” Vincent said. His voice was businesslike. Abrupt. It was not a voice I’d ever heard before.
I looked at him. Looked directly into those eyes that I’d loved all my life. “All right,” I said, my own voice coming out hoarse and weak. How could I ever explain to him what I’d done and who I’d become?
* * *
There was no time for me to stew over what I would say to Vincent for the rest of the day, and that was good. Mayor Finley’s twenty-two-year-old married daughter, Amy Pryor, was brought by hearse to the hospital late that afternoon, and she was in such dire straits with rapidly progressing paralysis that Dr. Matthews told us to move her immediately into our second iron lung. Her arms and chest and abdomen were already paralyzed by the disease and she struggled to breathe. She could only moan rather than speak. Although she could still move her legs somewhat, they thrashed wildly as Grace Wilding and I transferred her to the bed of the respirator. Along with Grace, I was put in charge of her care since I’d been trained in using the iron lung. I didn’t know which of us was more nervous, Grace or myself. Not only was the iron lung still new to us, but this was the mayor of Hickory’s beloved daughter and she was desperately ill. Her husband was overseas and her mother was taking care of her two-year-old son. To complicate matters even further, she was seven and a half months pregnant. The blessing in disguise was that she seemed to have no idea at all what was going on. She was in that blurry mental state we often saw in our most severely ill patients, confusion and delirium born of pain and fever and fear. If someone ever wheeled me into that long tube, forcing my breath in and out of my lungs, I thought I would panic, but Amy seemed oblivious, and it was a relief to Grace and myself when we saw her color quickly improve and the thrashing of her legs cease. I wrapped her neck in a cloth saturated with lanoline to prevent the diaphragm from chafing her skin, and we examined the seals on all the ports to be sure the lung was airtight. Nervously, I checked the power supply. The hospital hadn’t lost power yet, but it would be disastrous for our iron-lung patients if we did. Once everything was in order, Grace and I looked at each other and let out our breath with exhausted smiles.
I was relieved when it was Dr. Matthews and not Vincent who came to examine Amy. I saw Vincent several times over the remainder of the day, but he was always on the other side of the ward from where I was working. If he was looking at me, I didn’t know. I kept my face turned away from him, afraid of what he could read in my eyes. The guilt. The love I still had for him. Those emotions went hand in hand and I knew I’d be fighting both of them for the rest of my life.
The night shift arrived and I filled Betty in on my patients, most particularly Amy Finley Pryor. I could tell Betty was unnerved at the prospect of taking care of the mayor’s daughter. She was more than competent and had worked with polio patients before—she had more experience working with an iron lung than I had—“but I’ve never taken care of a mayor’s kin before,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“You’ll be fine,” I told her. I imagined that in the hours to come, she was going to be in better shape than I was. I was still unsure when I’d be able to talk with Vincent and even less sure what I would say.
He was waiting for me outside the door of the ward when I left. I saw Henry in the distance, standing by the Cadillac, chatting with Zeke, and I knew he expected to give me a ride home. I panicked, having both men in my vision at the same time.
“I can’t talk now,” I said to Vincent. “I’m getting a ride home.” I nodded toward the clearing and the Cadillac and he followed my gaze in that direction.
“I have my car here and I can give you a ride home,” he said, “wherever home is.” I heard anger in his voice. “I’ll drive you home after we’ve talked,” he added.
“I…” I glanced in Henry’s direction again. I didn’t think he’d seen me. I held my chin a little higher. “That’s my husband,” I said. “I have to go.”
I started to walk past him, but he put an arm out to stop me.
“You owe me a conversation, Tess,” he said.
I dropped my chin, giving in. My knees were shivering. “All right,” I said. “Let me tell him I have to stay.”
He looked reluctant to let me go and I thought he didn’t believe that I would return. He thought I was a liar, and I made up my mind right then that I would tell him the truth. All of it.
“I’ll wait for you at the entrance to the stone building,” he said. “My car is on the other side.”
67
We were quiet as we circled the stone building, heading toward the area where cars were parked haphazardly among the trees. I recognized his old Ford and the sight of it nearly put tears in my eyes. How many hours I’d spent in that car!
He opened the door for me and I got in and rolled down the window. He did the same on his side and the evening breeze and sound of cicadas filled the car. He didn’t say a word and I knew he was waiting for me to begin.
I leaned my back against the door and looked at him. Really looked. He wore a blue short-sleeved shirt I’d never seen before, but everything else about him was familiar. Familiar and beautiful.
“Did you know I was here?” I asked. “In Hickory?”
“I had no idea where you were,” he said. “Gina refused to tell me anything.”
“I made her promise.”
“That letter you left me…” He shook his head. “My Tess? Marrying someone else? Cutting me out of her life without a word of explanation? I thought it was impossible. And of course, you left me no way to get in touch with you. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.” He looked out his side window into the woods. “When I finally got to Baltimore after your mother died, and I walked into your house and saw your engagement ring on that letter … I couldn’t believe it. Neither could my parents. It was such a shock. Such a slap in the face to all three of us.”
I winced. “I know,” I murmured. “I hated hurting all of you.”
“I was sure Gina knew who the man was and where you were, but she told me to forget you. Just move on. And once my mother accepted the fact that you were gone, she said the same thing. ‘Tess isn’t the girl we all thought she was,’ she told me. But how was I supposed to forget about you?” he asked. “It was impossible. Then Gina stopped returning my calls, and I finally realized you’d shut me out of your life for good and I had no choice but to accept it and move on.”
“I’m so sorry, Vincent.” My heart skittered in my chest as I listened to him, imagining how he’d felt.
“I was worried about you at first,” he said. “That behavior … it just wasn’t like you. And then I got angry.” He gripped the bottom of the steering wheel. He looked at me. “I’m still angry,” he said.
“Of course you are. Probably not nearly as angry as I am at myself.”
“I thought our relationship was strong enough to survive me being gone for those few months. I was so busy and maybe I took you for granted when I became a lazy letter writer.”
“That wasn’t it,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault in any way.”
“Was it my talk about possibly moving to Chicago someday? I knew you didn’t want that, and—”
“No, of course not.” I reached over to touch his hand, but quickly pulled my fingers a
way. I had no right to touch him. “And anyhow, you ended up back in Baltimore,” I said. “Gina told me.”
“I like Chicago, but my mother got sick and I knew I had to stay close to home.”
“Mimi was sick?”
“She still is. It’s her heart. It’s slowly giving out on her. She’s a little weaker every day.”
“Oh, Vincent.” I wished I could wrap my arms around him. Comfort him. I kept my hands locked in my lap. “What about Pop?” I asked. “How is he?”
“Afraid of losing Mom,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ve become little old people. Seems like it happened overnight.” He turned to face me. “So, are you going to tell me what happened, Tess?” he asked. “Why are you here? Who did you marry?”
I bit my lip to stop its trembling. “I’m so ashamed,” I said. He reached out his hand. Touched my lip with the tip of his finger. He might as well have been touching my breasts for the current of electricity it sent through me. He drew his hand away as though he suddenly remembered his anger, not his love.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
I knotted my hands again in my lap. “I was upset with you being gone so long,” I said. “I realize now I was being childish, but I was so used to having you close by and you seemed much more interested in your work than in me, and I was … I was being a big baby.” I twisted my rings around and around on my finger. “Gina suggested we go to Washington one weekend and we did. We stayed in her aunt’s tourist home. Two men were staying there and we all went out to dinner together.” I watched his face. His expression was impassive and unreadable. “It wasn’t like a date,” I said. “We went out as acquaintances. I didn’t feel as though I was cheating on you, doing that. But at dinner, I drank too much.”