Miss Julia Takes the Wheel

by Ann B. Ross

  There were only two young women, one in a dark uniform with EMT printed in yellow on the back of her jacket and the other in a police officer’s uniform. One held Mildred’s hand, and the other patted her back, neither of which was stemming the flow of tears or moans.

  “Mildred!” I cried, kneeling as best as I could beside her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Looking up at the two women, I went on. “Is she hurt? What happened?”

  Before they could answer, Mildred suddenly flung her arms around me, crying, “Oh, Julia! It was awful, thank goodness you’ve come. What am I going to do? I can’t stand it! Somebody needs to do something! What’re they doing? Why won’t you tell me anything?”

  Assuming that wasn’t addressed to me since I didn’t know anything to tell her, I did a little patting of my own, trying to soothe her anguish. “Tell me, Mildred. What happened?”

  “Horace,” she said, her face contorted and streaked with tears. “Oh, Julia, I think I’ve killed him.”

  “Oh, no! No, Mildred, surely not.” But I was recalling the time that she almost had killed him, the time that she raked his bedroom with a snipe-shooting shotgun that she kept under her bed. She hadn’t been aiming at him then—we’d thought it was a burglar climbing in the window. But maybe she’d aimed this time.

  Sam, with his legal caution and an eye on the two officials taking note of everything that was said, quickly stepped in. “You’re upset, Mildred. Let’s find out what happened before you say any more. Officer,” he said, addressing the policewoman, “could you get us an update? I’m assuming with all the help around here that the injured party is just that, and not deceased at all. I’m sure it would help Mrs. Allen to know where things stand.”

  The policewoman nodded, somewhat grudgingly, I thought, and left the kitchen. She was back almost immediately.

  “They’re taking him out now,” she said. “Going to the emergency room.”

  Mildred threw her head back and that anguished wail began again. I wanted to clamp my hand over her mouth, but Mildred was a large woman who could scream if she wanted to. So I waited until it died out.

  “Come on, Mildred,” I said, getting to my feet with difficulty, “let’s go upstairs and get you dressed, then Sam and I will drive you to the hospital. We’ll be only a few minutes behind them, and they’ll tell you something there.” But all I could think of was Horace with a hole in his chest or, worse, scatter shot all over his chest and face. Everywhere else, too.

  Surprisingly, Mildred hauled herself to her feet, clinging to a cashmere blanket that had served to cover a satin gown. She sniffed wetly, then turned to the young EMT. “Have some coffee, dear. I’m sure you get tired of hand-holding.”

  Give Mildred credit, I thought. She was always concerned with the comfort of her guests.

  Sam took me aside, saying, “While you help her get dressed, I’ll run across and get some clothes on. Then while you get dressed, I’ll drive her to the hospital and stay with her until you get there. Will that work?”

  “Perfectly,” I said, appreciating his logical mind, “but if she can’t dress herself, we’re in trouble.”

  Walking with Mildred toward the foyer, I hoped that she could get up the stairs without help. There was no way that I could either get her up them or stop her falling from them.

  Actually, she made it to the upstairs hall with little effort, then, with a gasp of pain, turned toward her bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs.

  “That’s where I found him, Julia,” Mildred said, pointing behind us as she wiped away tears with the edge of the cashmere blanket. “Lying right out there on the floor. There’s no telling how long he’d been there, suffering, in pain and agony, and I knew nothing of it. He was on his way back, you know.”

  No, I didn’t know, but I could guess. Mildred and Horace had separate bedrooms. The rooms weren’t even adjoining. They faced each other at each end of the wide, upstairs hall. Mildred had once laughed as she told me that they almost had to buy a ticket to visit each other. I had concluded from that information that their visits were few and far between.

  In her silk-swathed bedroom, Mildred calmly proceeded to gather the clothes, under and outer, that she wanted to wear, and all I had to do was help her with the buttons.

  Just as we started back downstairs, I saw the headlights of Sam’s car as he drove up to the porch. I was glad to know he was there, for the large house, after the comings and goings of so many first responders, was now eerily quiet.

  “Let’s get you in the car,” I said, guiding Mildred toward the door. “Sam will take you to the hospital and wait with you till I get there, and I won’t be long.”

  “Wait,” she said, stopping abruptly, then erupting in a surge of tears. “Our doctor, Julia!” she wailed. “Dr. Hargrove’s not here! I’ve never really needed him, but now that I do, he’s not here!”

  “Oh, but Dr. Crawford is, Mildred. He’ll be there, doing exactly what Dr. Hargrove would do. Horace is in good hands, you don’t need to worry about that.”

  * * *

  —

  As it turned out, she did.

  Sam and Mildred were in the waiting area of the emergency room when I got to the hospital. He rose to meet me as I entered, then said that the young woman in a glassed-in nook had told them to take a seat, that someone would soon come to take Mildred, but probably not Sam, to Horace. That meant, to me, that Horace was still among the living and that the next woman to see him wouldn’t be LuAnne Conover at the Good Shepherd Funeral Home.

  We walked over to the row of chairs, where Mildred was anxiously waiting. “Someone will come for you in a minute,” Sam assured her. “I didn’t know this, but apparently they let family members stay in the emergency room while they’re doing whatever it is they do. I think that means he’s awake and aware of what’s going on, and that’s good news.”

  Mildred gave Sam a plaintive look and said, “Is that new doctor here? Is he taking care of my precious?”

  “Uh, well, I don’t know. I gave them his name, told them he was holding the fort for Bob Hargrove, so I assume he’s back there.” Sam smiled at her. “Doctors have their own entrance, you know, so he probably came in that way.”

  It was only a second or two later that a nurse or a nurse’s helper came out of some electronically operated doors and walked straight to Mildred. “Mrs. Allen? If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to your husband.”

  Mildred sprang from her chair in a spritely manner, surprising me since she’d been leaning on my shoulder as if she could barely stay upright. “Is he all right? How is he?”

  “We’ll let the doctors tell you,” the nurse said, kindly enough. “The cardiologist wants to bring you up to speed.”

  “Wait for me, Julia,” Mildred pleaded. “Will you? I can’t face this alone.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Sam and I will be here until we hear from you. And praying for you both.”

  We watched the two of them disappear as the doors whooshed closed behind them. With the thought of prayer in my mind, I recalled that Mildred’s Episcopal church occasionally held healing services, so I turned to Sam. “Should we call her priest? I don’t know him, but surely he’ll come if he knows he’s needed.”

  “Let’s wait awhile—it’s barely four o’clock. Let’s hope we’ll learn a little something soon.”

  Suddenly my hand clamped down on Sam’s arm. “Sam!” I whispered. “Did that nurse say cardiologist?”

  Sam frowned, then nodded. “She did.”

  “Then Mildred couldn’t have shot Horace. If she’d hit his heart, he wouldn’t be needing a cardiologist, would he?”

  With a quizzical look, Sam said, “I seriously doubt it. Why do you think she shot him?”

  “Because,” I said, lowering my voice, “don’t you remember? She shot at him once before. And that was the first thing I thought of
when she said she’d killed him.”

  “Well,” Sam said, “I suggest that we conveniently forget we heard that, although there were two other witnesses. Right now, I’m concerned about something else.”

  “What?”

  “When I went home to put on some clothes, I called Don Crawford to meet us over here—the same as I would’ve done if it’d been Bob.”

  “And?”

  “He said he doesn’t see emergency cases—they’re taken care of by staff hospitalists. He said if Horace is admitted, he’ll drop by the hospital tomorrow and see how he’s doing.”

  “Well!” I said, on the point of outrage. “That’s a poor way of doing things. I thought he was running the practice the way Dr. Hargrove does, and he certainly would’ve been here.”

  “I know,” Sam said, agreeing with a nod. “But, then, we’re friends. Maybe with all the changes in the way medicine is practiced now, he would’ve bowed to the emergency room staff, too.”

  “But Mildred and Horace are his patients, Sam. Forget friendship! They’re patients, and Bob would’ve been here!”

  Sam nodded agreement. “He would’ve, yes. But Bob would’ve called in specialists—the cardiologists and so on—if they were needed. We really can’t blame Dr. Crawford for not coming out to see someone he doesn’t even know.”

  Well, I could, and proceeded to do just that. Dr. Hargrove’s friends should receive the special treatment to which they were accustomed to having from him, and I was surprised and dismayed that Dr. Crawford had chosen to relinquish Horace’s care to a group of strangers with unknown pedigrees.

  Chapter 27

  *

  We waited and waited, sitting in the lounge until the windows began to lighten with dawn. Sam had brought cup after cup of coffee, and I’d dozed in between trips to the ladies’ room.

  “What can be taking so long?” I asked, knowing that Sam knew no more than I did, but asking anyway.

  “No telling,” he said, trying not to yawn. “They’re probably doing electrocardiograms among many other tests. And monitoring him before either admitting him or sending him home.”

  “After all this? Surely they won’t send him home. What would Mildred do without Ida Lee?” I could visualize Mildred constantly calling on Sam and me to help with nursing care.

  “She’ll hire registered nurses round the clock. Don’t worry about it—Mildred has the constitution of a horse, honey. When the going gets tough, she gets tougher.”

  “Well, you’re right about that,” I said, nodding. “It’s just that she has to go through some kind of helpless act until she decides to take hold.” I squirmed in the hard chair, then went on. “But, Sam, I’m sitting here getting more and more furious with Dr. Crawford. The idea of his just turning over and going back to sleep when Bob Hargrove’s close friend may be back there dying just does me in. I don’t think either Bob or Sue would approve of that.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. But remember, Bob would’ve called in the specialists, just as they’re doing without either him or Dr. Crawford. Horace is getting the same level of care he would’ve gotten anyway.”

  “That’s not the point,” I said. “It’s the principle of the thing that gets to me. I don’t think Dr. Crawford is living up to his contract, which surely calls for him to get out of bed and see to his patients.”

  Sam smiled and patted my knee. “I expect so, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

  I subsided, knowing he was right. But, I thought with a flash of righteous anger, I am surely going to tell on him when Bob Hargrove gets home.

  * * *

  —

  About nine o’clock that morning, Horace Allen was moved from the emergency room and admitted to the intensive care unit. Then it was strongly yet gently suggested that his wife go home and get some rest. From the way it was worded by one of the ER nurses, it appeared that Mildred had required as much attention as had her husband.

  So Sam and I drove her home, then at her pleading, I accompanied her inside. Walking up the stairs with her, I suggested that she go straight to bed since she’d been up most of the night.

  “That’s what I intend to do,” I said, my eyes so heavy I could hardly see. “And Sam, too, I expect.”

  “I doubt I can sleep,” Mildred said, piteously, as we entered her bedroom. “I’m much too worried about what happened, what could’ve happened, and what might yet happen. I’ll probably never sleep the same again.”

  Then she began to rummage through a lingerie drawer, pulling out a lace-enhanced nightgown. “I’ll also never wear that gown I had on again. Horace loves it, which was what instigated his heart attack in the first place.”

  She was telling me much more than I wanted to know, so I busied myself with hanging up the dress that she’d flung on a chair.

  Then, in her underclothes, she suddenly collapsed in a velvet chair and the tears began again. “Oh, Julia, if you could’ve seen him—tubes and wires all over the place, and people coming and going, and machines moving in and out—it was horrible. And my poor Horace looking so pale and helpless, and all the while I was sitting there watching and praying and thinking that it was our love . . . Well,” she said with a mournful sigh, “it can’t be helped, but I guess that’s the end of that.”

  Thinking that there had apparently not been much of that to begin with, I chose my words carefully. “Maybe not, Mildred. We both know people who’ve had heart attacks and gone on to lead normal lives.”

  “Ah,” she said, “but what do we really know about what goes on or doesn’t go on in their lives?”

  “That’s true,” I said, too tired to do anything but agree with her. “Did the doctor tell you he shouldn’t . . . you know?”

  “No, but I know he will. I guess he figures he has plenty of time to get into that. Horace is in no shape now to even think of exerting himself.

  “See, Julia,” Mildred went on, “I have to protect him from everything that will put a strain on his poor, damaged heart. And that means from me as well. I just didn’t realize the depth and intensity of his feelings. I mean, my mind can roam over a dozen things while his focuses entirely on what he’s doing, and that’s not healthy. Obviously.”

  By an act of will I closed off the mental image her words evoked. I had no desire to know what went on in somebody else’s bedroom.

  But by this time Mildred had undressed and redressed in the fresh gown while I smoothed out her bed with my back turned. I think that she was so accustomed to being dressed with Ida Lee’s help that it didn’t occur to her that I would be discomfited at the sight of such a vast expanse of flesh. Well, even at a small expanse, truth be told.

  I pretended to a nonchalance that I didn’t feel.

  Then, just as Mildred began to crawl into bed, she jumped back and let out a shriek. “Julia!”

  “What! What is it?”

  “Ida Lee! I have to call her and tell her to come home. What was I thinking? I should’ve called last night, so she would already be on her way. Oh, what will I do? It could be tomorrow by the time she gets here.”

  “Oh, Mildred, I wouldn’t do that. She’s supposed to be back this weekend anyway, isn’t she? Why don’t you let her have her full time away? They’ll keep Horace in ICU for several days, so you won’t need help till he gets home.”

  “I’m not talking about for him,” she said. “I need her for me. And, besides, she’d want to be here if she knew how badly I need her.”

  I wasn’t too sure of that. I knew that Ida Lee was more than well paid—she had to be, considering that she stayed in the job in spite of what was asked of her. But I also knew that Mildred was a demanding employer and expected constant attendance. But if Ida Lee decided to take her full vacation, we could have another Allen in the hospital.

  “Well,” I said, soothingly, “I’m just suggesting that you won’t really need her unt
il Horace gets home, and by that time she’ll have had the full two weeks with her family—which she certainly deserves.” The last thing I wanted to have happen was Ida Lee not returning at all.

  Mildred seemed to consider that, but then she said, “I know what I’ll do—I’ll get her a Gucci handbag as a thank-you gift for dispensing with a few more days off. Because I’ll tell you the truth, Julia, I need Ida Lee more than I need Horace. Not that I don’t love Horace, but he’s not as helpful or as handy as she is.”

  I had no reply to that, so I firmly took my leave, telling Mildred to get some sleep for Horace’s sake. But walking across her lawn to my house, I couldn’t help but wonder at that marriage. It was certainly one for the books—if anyone was interested enough to research it, which certainly wasn’t me.

  * * *

  —

  I’d just walked through the kitchen door with my mouth open to speak to Lillian when the phone rang. Lillian gave me a questioning look as she answered it, then handed it to me.

  “It’s Mrs. Allen,” she said,

  My word, I’d barely gotten home and already she was calling.

  Taking the phone, I said, “Mildred? What’s wrong? You ought to be asleep.”

  “I know,” she said, “and I will be just as soon as I tell you this and get your opinion about it. See, Julia, I’m thinking that I ought to get Horace a new car. What do you think?”

  I could scarcely believe she was lying awake after watching Horace being brought back from near-death and was now thinking of a new car. Why, the man might never recover at all. Why did she have cars on her mind?

  “I haven’t thought about it at all, Mildred,” I said, somewhat testily, which was the way I felt. “Why are you thinking of such a thing?”

  “Well, because,” she said as if it was obvious, “Julia, you know he drives that little foreign sports car that he just had to have, and he loves it. But it’s hard to drive. Why, Julia, that thing has a six-speed dual clutch manual transmission, so he has to shift gears all up and down the gearshift every time he slows down, speeds up, or comes to a stop, and that’s such a strain. I’m not sure he’ll be able to manage that after a heart attack. And it’s also very low to the ground—you have to go through contortions to get in and out of it. I won’t ride in it myself. I like a big, comfortable, easy to drive car, and I think I ought to have one like that waiting for him when he’s able to get out and around again.”