“Some questions, Will. When did this start?”
“She was feelin’ on the go-down since yesterday. Said her side hurt when she took her breath.”
“Just since yesterday?”
“Yes’m. Seemed to be ’bout like always before that.”
“Will, she’s a mighty sick girl. Temperature’s 104. This may be typhoid—or it may not. I can’t tell yet. If it is, it isn’t following the usual pattern.”
“Say ye?”
“I mean it isn’t starting off as most cases do. I’m almost sure of one thing though. Ruby Mae has pneumonia. Double pneumonia, I’m afraid.”
“She does! What are we going to do?”
“She hasn’t coughed at all, has she?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“It would be better if she were coughing.”
“Better to cough?” Will asked incredulously.
“Yes, because her lungs are—Dr. MacNeill would say ‘consolidated.’ Poultices . . . Wish I had some veratrum.”
“Say ye?”
“Just thinking out loud. Will, how are you fixed for onions?”
“Onions! What in tarnation! Law, ye mean for supper?”
“No, no—not to eat.”
Will looked as puzzled as I felt. “Well—considerable onions,” he answered.
“As many as a bushel?”
“Reckon. They’re in the loft with the pumpkins and the leather britches and apples.”
“Then we’ll try onion poultices,” Miss Alice announced crisply. “They’ll do. They work fine—sometimes. You get the onions for us, Will, lots of them, and your skinning knife or any other knives you have and we’ll start peeling. This night, my boy, you’re going to work harder than you’ve ever worked.”
The young husband grinned at her. He was a young giant, muscular and broad-shouldered, but still a boy in so many ways. Relieved to be told something that he could do, he leaped into action, chinning himself up through the hole into the loft. Soon he was back with Ruby Mae’s washtub and a piggin heaped with the onions and he and I began slicing them as Miss Alice had told us to do. She was tearing unbleached domestic and folding it into large squares for the poultices.
Almost immediately our tear ducts were raining water. “Strong onions these. Have a right smart effect on me,” Will observed.
I smiled at him. “ ‘Smart’ is the word. And look at the pile left to peel. We’re crying like babies already.”
“Everwho heerd of doctorin’ with onions!” Will exclaimed, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Guess Miss Alice has to make do with what she has. She’s a good one for that.”
There was nothing for it but to go on peeling, let the tears roll and smile at one another’s ludicrous look while we marveled that our eyes could rain such a never-ending supply. In a way the tears and the sting were a relief; they kept our minds off our fear for Ruby Mae.
As soon as we had a skilletful, Miss Alice cooked the cutup onions until they were heated all through. Then she put the hot onions into the muslin squares and gently placed the poultice on Ruby Mae’s chest. I watched her hands. There was something loving even about the way they moved. She made no effort to shield herself as she bent closely over the sick girl, almost—it seemed to me—blessing her with her hands. The cabin seemed filled with an atmosphere of benediction.
As fast as the frying pan was emptied, Will and I would fill it again. For the next poultice, Will helped Miss Alice turn his wife on her side so that the hot onions could be applied to her back. “We’ll have to keep turning her,” Miss Alice explained.
Though the chimney was only half-completed with that end of the cabin open to the outside, the room was soon damp with the odor of steamy onions. We lost all sense of time, knowing only that it was dark now. It must be well into the night, I guessed.
My knife bit into the tissue-like covering of yet another onion. Marvelously constructed, the onion, I thought as I tried to get my mind off the smell. Would I ever again want to see an onion, much less eat one? Layer after layer. Slice it through. I had thought that I was coming to help nurse, had pictured myself being a sort of ministering angel, and here I was spending the night peeling onions.
Miss Alice stood at the stove stirring yet another pan of simmering onions. Her hair clung dankly around her flushed face and beads of moisture stood out on her temples and her upper lip. Carefully she took a big spoon and raked the cooked onions between layers of the domestic. “Better put this one on her chest again,” she said, and I leaped up to help her, eager for the chance to stretch my legs and move around.
Ruby Mae no longer seemed to know what was going on around her. She was perspiring profusely now, the sweat running in rivulets down her temples. The bed was wet, and in between changing the poultices, Miss Alice kept several heavy quilts tucked in around her. Often she sat on the edge of the bed, tilting the sick girl’s head and getting her to swallow as much water as possible. This time as she removed the cooled poultice and applied the hot one, I saw that the inside of Miss Alice’s hands had blistered.
“Let me handle the poultices for a while,” I told her. “Give your hands a rest. I’ve been watching you so I can do it.”
She nodded absently, all her attention centered on Ruby Mae with no concern for herself or her hands at all. She’s learned the secret all the way, hasn’t she? How to love other people. She really does care about these folks. Nothing held back. This is what I’ve been learning with Little Burl and Mountie and Opal and Fairlight. Fairlight most of all. Fairlight . . . Fairlight . . . Could I see in Ruby Mae something of what had meant so much to me in Fairlight? Yes, yes I could—a little. It’s love like Miss Alice’s that heals. And suddenly I was sure that we would win. Ruby Mae was going to make it.
A little later I slipped out the cabin door for a minute, grateful for a few deep breaths of the pure mountain air. The morning stars were out. Dawn must not be far off. I picked out the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper and Mars and Venus. Somewhere a hoot owl gave his eerie signal. Then at my back I heard feet scrambling across the floor. I got to the door to see both Will and Miss Alice rushing toward the bed. With no warning, Ruby Mae had sat up in bed and was coughing violently. Will stood by, moving his big hands in futile gestures. The cough was loose and deep and shook the bed. All at once from Ruby Mae’s mouth poured a stream of dark red mucous and pus. Miss Alice grabbed a pan and held it under the girl’s mouth while I ran to support her head and her back. No wonder she’d been sick with all that stuff in her lungs. I had to look away to keep from gagging.
“Get it all up, child. That’s it. Just what we’ve been working for. Good!”
Then another paroxysm and ropes of the highly colored phlegm emptied into the pan. “Enough for now,” Miss Alice said. “Lie back and rest now. You’re going to be fine.” Tenderly she eased the exhausted girl’s head back on the pillow and moved immediately to get the soiled top quilt off the bed and to clean up the mess.
“We need some more water here, Will.” Jubilation was written on Miss Alice’s face. “You have succeeded,” she said to Will and me, as if her part in it had been negligible. “I’ve never seen onion poultices do a finer job. She must have had a lung abscess, a bad one. But I do believe she’s going to be all right.”
About an hour after dawn, Will came in to report that he had seen Dr. MacNeill riding up the trail. Without thinking, I rushed out to meet him as he came jogging into the yard and slowed his sorrel to a walk. His face broke into a grin as he saw me and, ridiculously, I blushed. Why did I always act silly when he was around?
“You should have been here last night,” I said, laughing to hide my self-consciousness. “You missed a crying party.”
“A what?” he asked as he dismounted.
“We’ve had Ruby Mae all wrapped up in cooked onions. Will and I spent most of the night peeling them.”
He inspected me with his eyes and chuckled. “You look it. And how’s Ruby Mae?”
“Better, I think.”
Then Miss Alice appeared, obviously relieved to see him, and between the two of us, we described the all-night vigil. The doctor listened in surprise at first, then began nodding his head. “Under the circumstances, I think you did just right. There may not be a thing for me to do.”
Quickly he moved into the cabin, sat down by Ruby Mae and proceeded to a systematic examination. Even then she only half awoke to acknowledge him groggily. Finally, he looked towards Miss Alice in approval. “I wouldn’t dare make a final diagnosis quite yet. Looks like typhoid—and pneumonia both. The onions did their work. Of course,” he bantered, “there are those who think the odor of the cure is worse than the disease!” Then he was serious again. “No medicine at the moment, I say. Total rest. Lots of liquids.” Here he addressed himself to Will. “You do understand, don’t you, Will, nothing but liquids?”
Then as an afterthought, he turned to me, “Were you up the entire night?”
I nodded. “But I’m all right,” I said lightly.
The doctor turned again to Miss Alice. “And you were up too. You both need rest. I’ll stay with Ruby Mae for a while. You and Christy go back to the mission and get some sleep.”
Miss Alice shook her head. “I’d like to stay on. You need sleep more than I do, Neil. Why don’t you drop Christy off at the mission house?”
The doctor did not protest. His eyes were bloodshot with deep hollows beneath them. Yet there was a lilt to his voice and a spring to his step that surprised and fascinated me. Clearly, the increasing crisis was demanding every resource he possessed. Yet instead of being overwhelmed Dr. MacNeill seemed in some way fulfilled by these demands.
Not until I started to mount Buttons did I realize how tired I was. There was a ringing in my head and a strange numbness to my arms and legs. Instantly, the doctor recognized the situation. “You’re going to ride with me,” he ordered.
I started to argue, but he paid no attention to me. He obtained a piece of heavy sacking from Will and threw it over Charlie’s croup behind the saddle. Then he mounted and reached down a hand for me. “Hand up—”
I obeyed him instinctively and felt myself lifted up. “Comfortable? Hang onto me.” To Miss Alice standing in the doorway, he said, “I’ll look in on Ruby Mae again tomorrow. Get some sleep. Will can keep watch. I’ll send someone to pick up Buttons.” Then we were off.
As Charlie moved into a free-swinging easy gait and the cool morning air flowed past my face, I began to feel better, no longer exhausted, just comfortably drowsy, as though I could sleep forever . . . One part of me wanted to relax against the doctor; another part of me resisted vigorously. Why was I always so divided about this man? Why did he annoy me so often? Yet this morning I had been so glad to see him. For a while we rode in silence as I tried to puzzle out this paradox.
One thing I did not like about Dr. MacNeill was his conceit. He was always so sure of himself! He was the one who really knew these mountain people; he knew best how to handle the still business; he was so quick to criticize David; he rarely consulted Miss Alice; he always had the right answers for everything.
The doctor’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Christy, I’m worried about you.”
I was startled by the strong note of concern in his voice. “You have enough people to worry about without adding me to your list.”
“Every instinct inside me says that I should keep riding on down to the El Pano railroad station and put you on a train to Asheville.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Well, you’d better not try it unless you think you can tie and gag me.”
The doctor threw back his head and laughed. It was so irrepressible that I laughed too in spite of myself.
“I’ve known a few girls in my life, Christy, but I don’t believe I’ve ever met one as stubborn and as know-it-all as you are.”
“Thank you. I was just thinking the same nice thoughts about you.”
The doctor chuckled. “Well then, if I can’t persuade you to go home, can I persuade you to take special precautions?”
“Anything you say, doctor—Sir.”
“That’s better.” He reached back and took one of my hands as though to indicate we were in agreement, but he did not let go. I pulled it away. He said nothing more and after a while I relaxed, leaning lightly against him. We were back at the mission sooner than I would have believed possible.
I started to dismount, but Dr. MacNeill would not let me. “You promised to follow my instructions, so hold on a moment while I assume my best medical stance.”
“You’re not standing. You’re sitting on a horse.”
“So I am. And so we’ll both remain until I finish. First, take off every garment you’re wearing and don’t put a piece of it on again until everything’s been washed in lye soap and sunned. Wash your hands in 70% alcohol or bichloride solution. Wash your hair right away. And I want you to get lots of sleep.” All the levity was gone from his voice; he was deadly serious, all doctor.
Then a strange thing happened. I was not tired any more and I didn’t care if I ever got off that horse. Something inside me loosened, unknotted. Compassion and warmth welled up in me. I knew that I belonged here, helping these mountain people. There was nothing I wanted for myself, I just wanted to give. All these new feelings washed over me in a matter of seconds.
Impetuously, I leaned forward and kissed Neil MacNeill gently on the cheek. Before he could say anything, I had vaulted off Charlie’s back and dashed into the mission house.
When some of the neighbor-women came in to help nurse Ruby Mae (who did have typhoid) Miss Alice returned from the Becks’. Then since she was so needed in Cutter Gap, she canceled her regular week at the Big Lick Spring school. And as Lundy’s illness dragged on, she insisted on assuming much of the burden of his care though his case still seemed a mild one.
That Thursday afternoon I was at work in the empty schoolroom getting our supplies in final order for the opening of school on Monday, when I heard someone coming up the steps. The door opened and Miss Alice stuck her head in. “Ida said I’d find you here. Am I interrupting something important?”
“No, not at all. Please come in.”
As I stood watching Miss Alice move easily down the length of the aisle toward me, I was fascinated all over again with what a striking figure she was. Even though she was tired, she held herself so erect. She had what my mother would call “presence.” I pulled out my desk chair for her and I slid into the seat of the nearest pupil’s desk, delighted always for a chance to be with Miss Alice.
Her level eyes searched mine. Then she said abruptly, “You’ve been wondering about Margaret, haven’t you? About Margaret and her marriage to Neil.”
“Yes, but—” I didn’t go on.
“But how did I know? Christy! How much do you think stays out of those big eyes of yours? Ever since you were in Neil’s laboratory—where Margaret’s things are—you’ve been aching to ask questions. Would you like to hear it from me?”
This was an unexpected boon. I tried not to sound as eager as I felt. “Yes. Yes, please.”
Miss Alice seemed to be looking over my shoulder at some distant horizon. The room was so quiet that I became aware of a single angry fly buzzing against a windowpane. When she spoke, her voice was soft.
“She was tall. Hair like mine, only even more abundant and more copper than blonde. Shining bronze hair, it was. She had a slight lisp that only added to her charm. Full of energy, laughed a lot. A merry laugh. When she was younger, often my mother would chide her for laughing at inopportune times. She didn’t feel that Margaret was sensitive enough to sacred occasions or to people’s feelings. I can recall Margaret answering her, ‘But Gee-Marm, the laugh’s in me and has to come out.’
“She was a headstrong child, willful. Early she learned to get her way with my father, partly because she was surprisingly articulate for a little girl, partly because from t
he beginning she’d had an instinctive knowledge of men.
“I was an easy mark too. This part of the story, Christy, you can hear as a sort of confession, further proof that I’m no tin-plated saint. I had accepted fully father’s philosophy that parents can do nothing greater for their children than giving them a joyous childhood, so I set out to create what I called ‘the habit of happiness’ in my daughter.
“Since my decision had been for honesty, early I had told Margaret about the circumstances of her birth. Not the biological details, of course. Just: ‘Our family is different. I never knew the care and protection of a husband. I’ve loved you all the more because I haven’t had a complete family to love.’ She seemed to accept that with no difficulty.
“I was so young myself when she was little. We were like two children. Together we slid down haystacks and went to every circus that came to town. We read a great deal; she acquired a rare knowledge of literature. There was one period when we had three cats, two monkeys, a parrot, a pair of doves and a dog as members of our household. There were silly indulgences like buying her a small parlor organ. Unheard of, for a Friend!
“Perhaps too, I overprotected her from our Quakerisms because some of them had always seemed silly to me. When she was fourteen, someone gave her a beautiful silk shawl with fringe a foot wide. Margaret was ecstatic and my mother was horrified. She insisted that no proper Quaker girl would ever don such fine apparel and, therefore, we were going to have to shorten the fringe. Margaret cried and stormed. Mother actually had the shawl spread out on the table, a ruler out, about to cut, with Margaret standing there entreatingly, certain that when the scissors cut that fringe they would also cut into her heart. I couldn’t bear her agony and intervened because, in fact, the length of the fringe didn’t seem important. This sort of thing was like that Friend who longed for scarlet geraniums in her window boxes, but didn’t dare to grow them. Like my own grandmother who considered men’s suspenders and that new invention—the sewing machine—contraptions of the devil. And believe it or not, one old lady I knew had false teeth made and then felt ‘scruples’ about using them. So she deposited the precious teeth in her top bureau drawer and painfully gummed her way through the rest of her days.”
Christy Page 50
