by Pat Bourke
Meredith stopped at the top of the back stairs. “I’m doing exactly what you said, Miss Margaret. You said I was to look after Mrs. Butters and Parker.” Meredith kept her voice steady. “You said you’d look after your family.”
She’d reached the third step from the bottom when Maggie said, “Wait.”
It wasn’t Maggie’s usual bossy tone.
“Wait, please.”
Meredith looked up. Maggie’s hair was a tangle on either side of her pale face. She didn’t look sulky or even angry this time, she just looked worn out.
“I’ll help,” Maggie said. “Could you…could we get his sweater off? Then get him into his nightshirt? And then move him?”
“All right,” Meredith said quietly. “But I’m going to check on Mrs. Butters first.”
The old Maggie would have stormed and argued. This Maggie nodded. Meredith decided she liked this new one a whole lot better as she made her way to the back hall.
Thankfully, Mrs. Butters seemed to be all right despite the rasping noise that accompanied every rise of her chest. Meredith didn’t know if it was worse than before, she only knew it was bad. They needed to find a way to get her to the hospital soon.
“It’s about time,” Maggie said when Meredith returned to Harry’s bedroom. Harry was complaining loudly about the smell, holding his nose with one hand and arranging his soldiers into two lines with the other.
Meredith tugged her mask up over her nose and mouth; Maggie made a sour face, but she did the same.
Jack’s eyes were glassy and he seemed confused. Getting his sweater off was like undressing one of Ellen’s rag dolls grown life-sized. Maggie threaded his arms back through the sleeves, careful not to touch the vomit, while Meredith gathered the bottom of the sweater and eased it over his head. She was congratulating herself for containing the mess when some of it dripped onto Jack’s bare chest.
“Eew! That’s disgusting!” Maggie flinched. “I’ll get his nightshirt.” She fled before Meredith could argue.
Meredith couldn’t help grimacing as she used Jack’s sweater to mop up the mess, and her stomach was doing uneasy somersaults as she rolled the sweater into a ball and set it out in the hall. There’d be a mountain of laundry for Mrs. O’Hagan when this was all over.
With the sweater gone, Harry’s room didn’t smell quite so bad. Meredith hoisted the window to help freshen the air and bring down Jack’s fever. She fetched a washcloth from the bathroom, and then wiped Jack’s face and chest, trying not to catch his eye, but she was uncomfortably aware of his bare chest rising and falling below her arm.
“Good,” he mumbled.
“What’s good?” Meredith leaned closer to hear him better.
“That,” he said. “Thanks.”
She was sweating despite the open window. She hoped it was only being too close to him and not the first stirrings of the sickness in her. She’d been able to mostly avoid thinking about getting sick herself, but Jack falling ill with no warning had scared her. It was going to be harder to continue convincing herself that she’d somehow stay safe. A sudden lump in her throat made it hard to swallow.
“I don’t know why you’re just standing there,” Maggie said impatiently, from the doorway. “We’ll need to get his pants off, too.”
Goodness! Meredith hadn’t thought of his pants.
“Nightshirt first,” Maggie said. She pulled it over Jack’s head, and he grunted as she guided his arms through the sleeves. She tugged the nightshirt down over his chest. “His skin’s awfully hot.”
“It’s the fever,” Meredith said. “Mrs. Butters had it, too.”
Maggie stood back and crossed her arms. “You do the pants.”
Jack’s naked chest had been disturbing enough; Meredith certainly didn’t want to see him without his pants.
“Don’t,” Jack mumbled, shaking his head. “S’okay.”
Meredith looked at Maggie.
Maggie tilted her head, considering. “Oh, all right,” she conceded.
Getting Jack to stand was worse than wrestling his mattress. Movement made him dizzy. Even with a girl on each side, it took all the strength they had to keep him from collapsing back into the rocking chair.
“It’s no use,” Maggie said after what seemed like the twentieth try. “We need a sled or something.”
The jumble of covers on Harry’s mattress gave Meredith an idea. “What about a blanket? We could pull him over to the mattress on that.”
“That might work.” Maggie’s eyes brightened. “That’s clever, actually.” Meredith thought Maggie might even be smiling at her from behind her mask.
Meredith lifted the blue wool blanket from Harry’s bed and spread it on the floor in front of the rocking chair. Jack groaned as they eased him down onto the blanket. He looked younger to Meredith as he huddled there.
Maggie picked up one corner of the blanket and motioned to Meredith to take the other. “Together now,” she said.
Chapter 26
For Meredith, the night that followed was a jumble of stairs and basins, wet cloths on foreheads, and trying to get first Mrs. Butters and then Parker to drink some water. More went in than dribbled out, and Meredith told herself that had to be a good sign. Still, she’d feel better when she and Maggie found a way to take them both to the hospital.
Parker turned his head away from the damp cloth Meredith was using to sponge his forehead as she sat with him in the early hours of the morning. The sun wasn’t up yet, so the room felt dark and cramped. From time to time, Parker muttered words she couldn’t make out. The memory of his blood-slick scalp in her hands did nasty things to her stomach, so she was careful to keep from touching his skin. Despite his fever, she was half-afraid his skin would feel cold and slippery like the skin of the plucked turkeys Uncle Dan brought to the store every Christmas.
She’d had no sleep at all. How delicious it would be to feel her bones melting into her own mattress, the welcome tide of sleep washing over her. She was tired of sick people and out of patience with it all. She sat back in the chair she’d dragged over from Parker’s desk and closed her eyes.
Parker’s muttering pulled her back from the edge of sleep. She set the basin of water on the bedside table beside a small black Bible with D. B. Parker stamped in gold on the front cover. She wondered what church he attended and whether he had friends there that he met up with sometimes, but it was impossible to imagine Parker having a life separate from Glenwaring.
Her eyes were drawn to a photograph in a silver frame on the dresser across the room, and she got up to examine it. In the photograph, Parker stood stiffly beside a man in uniform who looked like younger version of Parker, both men positioned behind an elderly woman who was seated in a chair. Parker rested his hand on the woman’s shoulder; all three looked forbidding. Meredith knew their wooden expressions were the result of having to stay absolutely still for a long time so the photograph wouldn’t blur, but even so, it was hard to picture any of them actually smiling.
She picked up the frame to take a closer look and a smaller photograph fluttered from the back onto the dresser. The young woman in this photograph wore a black straw hat with flowers the size of cabbages clustered on one side of the brim, and a long jacket with black braid and shiny buttons marching smartly down the front. Her skirt reached to her ankles, and her feet were turned out so you could see the stylish court heels on her shoes. Her gloved hands held a small pocketbook at her trim waist, and her eyes seemed to hold a smile for whoever was looking at her. Meredith couldn’t resist turning the photograph over to search for a clue as to who she might be. An inscription in looping letters read, “To dear Durward from Lydia. St. Ives, 1896.”
It was ridiculous to think of Parker being anyone’s “dear Durward,” even if it had been years before she was born. Meredith wondered where St. Ives was, and wh
ether Lydia might be Parker’s sister, or even his sweetheart. Meredith couldn’t picture that merry-looking young woman as the sweetheart of a dried-up stick like Parker.
You never know what troubles someone might have. Maybe Parker had a younger brother fighting somewhere in France? Maybe Lydia was a lost love? Maybe he hadn’t always been like he was now; maybe things had happened to make him that way.
Parker’s pale face was turned toward her, and she was worried for a moment that he’d caught her snooping, but to her relief he seemed to still be asleep. He wasn’t wheezing like Mrs. Butters, so Meredith told herself they didn’t need to watch him as closely as the others. He was bound to get sicker, and she dreaded the awful wheezing to come and the guck he’d cough up, but right now Mrs. Butters needed her more. She inched the window higher, then pulled the blanket up to Parker’s chest and tucked it in neatly.
She could do that much for him, at least, on behalf of a sweetheart named Lydia or a brother overseas.
The sour odor of unwashed bodies met Meredith at the doorway of Harry’s room. The slight breeze stirring the lace curtains hadn’t managed to entirely banish the smell. A tray on the dresser held the remains of Maggie’s supper: a piece of bread, some crumbs of cheese and a half-eaten apple.
Harry was wrapped in a blanket and curled up like a kitten at the bottom of Jack’s mattress. Maggie was kneeling beside Jack, trying in vain to sponge his forehead as his head rolled from side to side. His hair was plastered to his skull. Meredith could see he was much sicker than he’d been only a few hours ago.
“Stay still, Jack!” Maggie cried, sweating despite the cold. “It’s no use at all if you don’t stay still.” She flung the cloth across the room where it splatted against a small oak dresser and then slowly slid to the ground.
Maggie sat back on her heels and caught sight of Meredith in the doorway. “Papa’s got to come home,” she said. “I’ve telephoned the hospital again and again, but mostly I don’t get through, and when I do they say Papa is needed there and they’ll give him the message, but I don’t think they tell him anything at all.”
“Tell them your brother is sick, desperately sick. Make it sound as if—” Meredith froze. In the sudden silence, Meredith could hear the soft sighing sound made by the edge of the lace curtain as the breeze brushed it across the low table under the window.
“Is that what you think?” Maggie asked, stricken. “That Jack might—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Meredith said quickly, even though they both knew it was. “Go telephone them now. I’ll stay here.”
Maggie nodded. She ran down the hall.
Meredith stood at the doorway to Harry’s room, listening hard. Maggie had been gone too long. At first, Meredith thought she hadn’t been able to get through to the hospital, and then she thought it might be taking a long time to locate Dr. Waterton.
A noise from the front stairs caught her attention. After a worried glance at the sleeping boys, she hurried along the hallway to the landing and looked over the railing to the front hall below.
Maggie sat on the bottom step rocking back and forth, her shoulders heaving, her hands pressed to her mouth.
Meredith raced down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
Maggie grabbed Meredith’s hand and pulled her down onto the step beside her. “They said they couldn’t get him,” she sobbed, hanging on as if Meredith was a rope pulling her to safety. “I told them Jack was really sick, desperately sick like you said—” She took a gulping breath, “and they said there were people desperately sick there, too.” She gulped for more air. “And then they gave me a number to call. To talk to a nurse.”
It wasn’t possible. No one was coming. There was no one to help.
“They said they’d try to find Forrest,” Maggie continued. “But I don’t think they will, and I don’t know what to do!”
“Well, I do,” Meredith said firmly. “Call the nurse.”
“But Jack needs a doctor—”
“Listen to me,” Meredith grabbed Maggie’s other hand. “Your father will come just as soon as he gets the message.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do,” Meredith said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “I don’t know why he hasn’t got it yet. But you should call that nurse anyway. Maybe she can tell us something that will help. It’s all we can do until someone comes.”
Weariness had smudged dark circles under Maggie’s eyes and her face was blotchy from crying. Meredith could no longer see any traces of the dainty doll in the lovely blue dress at Jack’s party.
“And then you should rest,” Meredith said firmly. “Have a nap, and then wash up. You’ll feel better.”
Maggie shook her head. “You can’t manage all by yourself.”
“I can stay with your brother for a little while,” Meredith said, wishing now that she hadn’t been so quick to offer. She’d be even more tired when Maggie reappeared. “But not for long. We’ve got to think about the others.”
Maggie drew her hands back and slowly got to her feet. “I don’t know why you’re being nice to me,” she said. “But I’ll take a turn after so you can have a rest, too.”
Meredith could only blink at her in surprise.
Chapter 27
Later that afternoon, the sunlight glinted gold in the long mirrors that stood opposite the tall windows in the drawing room. As she sat up, Meredith squinted at the glare, unsure for a moment where she was. When Maggie, looking much better, had relieved her earlier that morning, Meredith had been unable to banish the thought of Parker just down the hall from her bedroom. She’d ducked into the drawing room instead, wanting to be surrounded by something other than sickness for a little while. She’d intended to take only a short nap, but she must have slept for hours.
Meredith swung her feet off the blue-and-cream satin of the sofa. Mrs. Stinson would be horrified if she knew Meredith’s feet had been resting on the Waterton’s elegant furniture. The thought almost made Meredith laugh, but then she remembered Mrs. Butters and Parker and Jack. She hurried to the back hall.
Mrs. Butters was asleep, wheezing, her iron-gray hair snaked across the pillow. There was no sign of Maggie. Meredith hastily scrubbed at her face in the small bathroom off the back hall and bundled her greasy hair into a knot, wishing there was time for a proper wash. She ignored the dishes piled haphazardly in the kitchen sink and sped up the back stairs to find Maggie.
In Harry’s room, Jack was sleeping, propped into a sitting position against the footboard of Harry’s bed. Beside him, Harry’s head poked out of a heap of covers on the mattress. His eyes were closed, too. It was a wonder either of them could sleep through the rasp of Jack’s breathing.
Then Meredith made sense of what she’d thought was a heap of covers on the mattress: Maggie, mostly hidden under a blanket, curled around her little brother and sound asleep.
How long had Maggie had been asleep? Had she even bothered to check on Mrs. Butters or Parker? Meredith told herself she wouldn’t have taken a nap if she’d thought Maggie was going to ignore them, but deep down she knew that wasn’t true. She’d known all along that Maggie wouldn’t go up to Parker, but the irresistible opportunity to get some sleep had been too strong. Maggie must have been as desperate for sleep as Meredith had been. Meredith couldn’t blame her for that.
Seeing Maggie and Harry now, Meredith remembered how she’d curled around Ellen the same way, Ellen’s solid little body spooned with hers in the bed they shared. Lying that way had comforted them both when Papa left them a lifetime ago. Maybe Maggie needed that kind of comfort now.
Meredith gently closed the bedroom door. Sleep was too precious to waste. Now that she was awake, Maggie might as well get whatever sleep she could.
Partway up the stairs to the third floor, the unmistakable sound of wheezing bro
ught her to a standstill. She sank onto the step and burst into tears—fearing the worst, wanting to escape, missing Mama. Now he’d need to be propped up, kept from choking, watched closely so he wouldn’t drown in the mucus filling his lungs. What a horrible mess it all was!
Meredith wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked there until the worst of the weeping passed. She wiped the tears from her wet cheeks and tried to think it all through.
First of all, Dr. Waterton couldn’t have any idea about the chaos at Glenwaring or he’d have come straight home, especially with Jack so sick. Meredith knew that for a fact. Second, even if the doctor hadn’t known about Parker or Jack, he would have sent Forrest to check on them if he couldn’t come himself. And Forrest would have done whatever Dr. Waterton asked. So something must have happened to Forrest. There was no point hoping he’d come and rescue them. Third, Maggie was right. If Dr. Waterton couldn’t come to them, then their only hope was to somehow take Mrs. Butters and Jack and Parker to him.
It was up to her and Maggie to figure out how to do that.
Meredith got wearily to her feet and made her way to Parker’s room. Up close, his wheezing didn’t sound too bad. Mrs. Butters was much worse and she was hanging on. That meant they could concentrate on getting help for Mrs. Butters and Jack first, and could worry about Parker after.
She carried Parker’s washbowl and jug to the cramped bathroom under the eaves where she emptied the bowl and refilled the jug with fresh water. Back in the bedroom, she found she couldn’t maneuver Parker into a more upright position on her own, so for now she only wiped his face with the damp cloth. She curled one arm under his pillow and used the pillow to help raise his head to offer him some water, even though she hated being so close to him.
When the water touched his lips, Parker cried, “It’s not the same!”
Startled, Meredith jerked back. Parker’s head dropped onto the pillow. He cried out again as water sloshed out of the glass and across his face. It was clear he didn’t know who she was or what was happening. When she put the glass to his lips again, most of the water dribbled out of the corners of his mouth and down his neck. She told herself it was all she could do for now, so she wiped her hands and headed back downstairs.
