Allison O'Brian on Her Own

by Melody Carlson

  “I brought this letter and almost forgot about it. You see, I found it in Marsha’s things,” she explained breathlessly, thrusting the envelope at him. He lifted a brow in suspicion. “Well, the truth is I was snooping. Grandpa, no one would tell me anything . . . and my life is so full of unanswered questions. I just had to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. . . .”

  Grandpa grinned and opened the envelope.

  She waited impatiently for him to adjust his reading glasses. At last he removed the letter and carefully unfolded it. She studied his face for any expression as he read, but it was as blank as the back of the letter.

  “Hmm.” He slowly refolded the letter and replaced it in the envelope, then shook his head as if trying to understand its meaning. His face bore a puzzled expression. Allison wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. Then he removed the letter again. She watched his eyes moving quickly this time, and his hands began to tremble. He scanned the envelope, studying the postmark, and turned it over and over in his hands.

  “Do you remember how old you were when Marsha told you about your father’s death?” he asked.

  “Eight, almost nine. Why?”

  “Oh, I just wondered if Marsha had received this letter before it was too late. I wonder if she made any effort to get this news to him. . . .” His voice sounded thick and he looked away. A tear glistened on his weathered cheek, and she went over to try to comfort him but instead burst into tears.

  “Oh, Grandpa, I love you so much, and it hurts me to see how you’ve felt about my father all these years. I’m sorry, but I just had to say it.” Now Grandpa cried quietly, and the sound of his sobs turned her heart inside out. She wished desperately to take back her words.

  “Grandpa, I’m so thankful I have you. I need you so much—”

  A knock interrupted Allison; Muriel stood in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and her face was white. Her eyes locked with Allison as she addressed Grandpa. “It’s a telegram, Mr. O’Brian. I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but it’s from New York and I fear it may be urgent.”

  At the sound of the words “New York,” Allison’s sadness turned to fear. What could this mean? Had Marsha already received her letter?

  Muriel handed the telegram to Grandpa. “I’ll make some tea, Mr. O’Brian.”

  He took a deep breath and blew his nose. Allison sat frozen to her chair, watching breathlessly. Leave it to Marsha to have such perfectly horrible timing!

  “Whatever this is, we can take it. We’re O’Brians, after all.” He opened the bright yellow envelope. For a second Allison hoped it was news of an airplane wreck involving Marsha. Then she shamefully retracted the awful thought.

  He cleared his throat and read. “ ‘Mr. O’Brian stop—Marsha has wired from Istanbul stop—Allison to return immediately stop—Secretary Lola Stevens will travel to pick up Allison stop—We expect your full cooperation stop—Anthony Meyer, Attorney at Law stop.’ ”

  Grandpa leaned back and closed his eyes as silence filled the room. Allison sunk deep into a chair like a deflated balloon. Muriel entered and set the tea tray on the table before them. Mutely she poured, but her shaking hand rattled the teacup against the saucer, interrupting the otherwise quiet room.

  “I suppose you heard, Muriel.” Grandpa spoke calmly, and Muriel nodded. “Well, send George in. I need him to run an important errand for me.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. You see, George and I were going over to Portland tomorrow to visit his nephew, and I just sent him on ahead without me. I felt I might be needed here. Of course, this was before the telegram. Anything I can do, sir?”

  “No, no thanks, Muriel. I’ll figure something out.”

  Allison nervously sipped her tea and watched Grandpa. His face was a study of emotions now. She could see he was thinking very hard, and it reminded her of when he played chess. But what was he going to do?

  “Grandpa, I’m so sorry. I should have told you about how I came, but I didn’t want to upset you. You’ve probably already guessed . . . I came on my own—without Marsha’s permission. It’s a long story, but I had to see you. And they were just going to ship me off to some horrible summer camp. I didn’t think anyone would care that I left. But I’m sorry I lied. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Don’t worry, lassie. And while I don’t care much for lying, I’m not the least bit mad at you. I suspected something like this all along. I never really thought that Marsha had let you come. I’m thankful you did what you did, but I wish you could have come with your mother’s permission. It wasn’t right to deceive her. Now, if we could just figure a way to keep you here. That is, if you want to stay—”

  “More than anything, Grandpa! My greatest wish is that I could stay here with you forever! This feels like a real home to me.”

  “That’s my wish, too, lassie. First of all I need to write my lawyer and have him examine the legal implications of this letter. It’s a very good thing you brought it, Allison. It’s helped me in more ways than you know, but we’ll talk more about that later. Right now I’ve a lot to do. You two better clear on out for a bit.”

  For once it almost seemed like Allison’s gray cloud was gone. Surely Grandpa could fix anything!

  Allison tried not to disturb Grandpa as he worked at his desk, surrounded by papers. It was late, but she still heard him pecking on his big black typewriter. He’d find a way to keep her here!

  “Care to join me for some cocoa?”

  Allison looked up to see Muriel standing in the doorway. She mechanically followed her to the kitchen, her thoughts tumbling around in her head. What if she were seeing everything in this wonderful old house for the last time? What if Lola came with the police and snatched her away? In a daze she studied the orderly kitchen. She wanted to imprint her memory with each copper pot, the old wood stove, even Muriel in her worn chenille bathrobe.

  “Allison,” Muriel began as she poured steamy milk into a blue and white cup, “if anyone can figure a way out of this, it’s your grandfather. He’s been through so much in his life, and somehow he always comes out on top.”

  Allison smiled. “The unsinkable Riley O’Brian.”

  “I guess that about sums it up.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right.” They sat in companionable silence while Allison finished her cocoa. She tried desperately to stay awake, but her eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

  “You need some rest. Time for bed, darling.” Muriel rinsed the cups in the deep sink.

  “What about Grandpa? He needs his rest, too.”

  “I learned long ago you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink. And that grandfather of yours can be as stubborn as a mule. He’ll go to bed when he’s good and ready.” She turned off the kitchen lights and headed to her quarters behind the house.

  Grandpa was still busy at his desk, so Allison wandered into the parlor. Even though she was tired, she felt too restless for sleep. Instead she switched on an elegant lamp with an intricate rose painted on its base. She hadn’t spent much time in this room, and Grandpa seemed to avoid it. She curled up in a corner of the soft velvety couch and studied the pretty decor. She could definitely see Grandmother Mercury’s touch in the delicate furnishings and soft pastel colors. A large green palm in a big pot thrived by the window. Allison wondered if Grandmother Mercury had spent a lot of time in here—perhaps on this very couch admiring the same plant.

  She closed her eyes and imagined her grandmother’s skirts swishing through the house. She tried to picture her father as a young boy. It was difficult since she couldn’t even remember ever seeing him. The most she could conjure up was a faceless child with bright red hair.

  Soon her imaginings turned into strange dreams. A woman in a swishing skirt wandered aimlessly through the vacant house. She was wringing her hands and moaning for her lost Jamie. But suddenly the woman changed into Marsha, and the faceless child with red hair ran wailing up the stairs. The stairs stretched on and on, and the faceless child bec
ame Allison. At last she reached the top and looked over her shoulder. Marsha was stealing up from behind, and the floor before Allison dropped away into a giant abyss.

  She awoke trembling and in a cold sweat, but the pretty lamp still glowed with a friendly light. She sighed and realized she was still safe in Grandpa’s house. Creeping down the darkened hallway, she found the den dark and empty. At least Grandpa had finally gone to bed. She tiptoed up the stairs and past his bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, and, as usual, she peeked in to reassure herself all was well. Grandpa’s bed was still made and unslept in.

  With concern, she opened the door wide and looked around. Where was he? She flicked on the light and looked at the little nautical clock above his fireplace. Two a.m.! What in the world could he be doing at this time of night? His bathroom door was open and unoccupied. She went back downstairs again. Still all the lights were off and no traces of Grandpa. Should she awaken Muriel, or was there some logical explanation?

  She decided to check the garage. The cars were all there except for George’s little Ford, but she knew he’d have taken it to Portland. She walked through the garden and past the darkened shed, then peered into Grandpa’s workshop. No sign of him. She wandered down the driveway aimlessly, looking to the left and right. She searched for some clue, some trace, anything. . . . He couldn’t just disappear.

  Finally she reached the dock road. It was black as ink, but a ray from the Jenson Light passed through the trees and gave her enough courage to continue. It was as if the light was drawing her toward the water. Halfway down the road she told herself she was crazy. She was about to turn back when she noticed something rocking in the water just a short distance from the dock. It looked like a boat. How odd to have a boat out in the middle of the night.

  She ran down to the dock for a better look, but it was so dark she could barely make it out. It appeared to be the rowboat. Just then the beam from the lighthouse moved slowly across the small boat and illuminated a slumped-over form inside. She instantly recognized Grandpa’s plaid lumber jacket and screamed. The figure moved ever so slightly.

  She kicked off her shoes and plunged into the water. The coldness shocked her and her clothes encased and tugged on her, but she swam hard. The distance between her and the boat seemed to be expanding. The tide was going out! She couldn’t make herself turn back—she had to reach the boat. She fought not only for Grandpa’s life now but also for her own.

  At last she hauled her exhausted, soggy body into the boat, dripping, shaking, and numb with cold. She checked Grandpa—he was still breathing. She gently laid him back against the bow of the boat.

  “Please be okay, Grandpa,” she breathed. “I’ll get you to shore. Just hang on. Please hang on!” She eased the oars from his grasp, then began to row with all her might against the tide. At first she was so stiff from cold that she felt clumsy and uncoordinated, but before long she settled into a rhythm that was almost like a prayer. Just make it to shore. Just make it to shore. It felt like an eternity, but finally she reached the dock, leaped out, and tied the boat securely.

  “Hang on, Grandpa! I’m going to get help.” She ran up the dock and raced straight for Muriel’s quarters. She screamed and pounded on the door until Muriel opened up with a ghostly white face.

  “Call Dr. Hartley,” Allison gasped. “It’s Grandpa! Down at the dock! Get Grace and Andrew over—we need help!” Without explaining, she ripped the blankets off Muriel’s bed and raced back for the dock. Her mind sped faster than her feet. Is he still alive? Will he be okay?

  “I’m coming, Grandpa!” she screamed in a voice hoarse from fear and exhaustion. When she finally reached the boat, Grandpa was still breathing, but his face appeared to be in pain. She wrapped one blanket around him and tucked the other under his head for a pillow. When would somebody get there?

  She held his cold hand in hers and prayed a silent, desperate prayer. A prayer without words that only her heart could comprehend. His hand squeezed hers ever so slightly.

  “Please don’t die, Grandpa,” she whispered. “Please don’t die. I love you so much. I need you.” Hot tears began to slide down her cheeks. Muriel came running down the road, her bathrobe fluttering. Behind her came a set of headlights bouncing on the dock road.

  Grace and Andrew leaped out of the jalopy. Together the four of them eased Grandpa out of the boat and onto a thick quilt that Andrew had spread out on the ground. They used it as a lift to carry him and gently laid him in the back of the flatbed. Andrew drove for the house while Grace cared for Grandpa in back.

  “That was smart to think of calling Grace,” Muriel said with her arm around Allison. “Next best thing to the doctor and quicker. Doc Hartley should be here soon, though.” They all got Grandpa into the den and laid him on the couch.

  “Is he still on digitalis?” Grace asked.

  “Yes, he keeps it in his pocket.” Muriel removed the vial and handed it to Grace. “What if he already took some?”

  “More won’t hurt,” Grace said. She slipped two into his mouth and held it closed. “Come on, Riley, hold on. Hold on for Allison.” She glanced at Allison. “You get out of those wet things right now!”

  Allison didn’t move. “I have to stay with Grandpa.”

  “Muriel, take her,” Grace commanded.

  “Come on, darling.” Muriel led Allison by the arm. “It won’t do him any good to have you catch pneumonia.” Muriel looked down at her bathrobe. “I better get dressed, too. Grace will handle things for now.”

  “Here comes Dr. Hartley,” Andrew called from the front door.

  Allison dashed to her room and peeled off her soggy clothes. Her skin looked strangely white in the mirror as she ripped her dry clothes over her still-damp skin. She bolted back downstairs just as Dr. Hartley, Andrew, and Grace carried Grandpa out to the doctor’s car.

  “We haven’t time for the ambulance,” Grace explained. “Riley needs to get to the hospital in Port View now. Allison, you come with me. Andrew will bring Muriel.”

  Grace sat in back and tended to Grandpa, and Allison rode in front with the doctor. She’d never seen anyone drive so fast, but she was sure he knew every curve in the road. She wished he could drive even faster. After what seemed like forever, they pulled up to a large brick building. Three men in white uniforms zipped out with a stretcher bed and expertly loaded Grandpa. With Dr. Hartley on their heels, they all disappeared down a pale green corridor. Allison started to follow but Grace stopped her.

  “They’ll take care of him, Allison. Now comes the really hard part.” Her arm tightened around Allison’s shoulders. “The waiting . . .

  Grace led them to a tiny room with hard wooden chairs designated for family and friends of patients. “Allison, sit down. You look like you’re about to go into shock. Put your head between your legs, and I’ll find you some tea or something.”

  Allison sunk into the chair and put her face in her hands. “Why does nothing ever turn out right in my life?” she muttered out loud. “Just when I find happiness, it’s snatched away. Is my life cursed?”

  A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up—there was Andrew. She threw herself into his arms and sobbed until no more tears would come. She stepped back in embarrassment, but his face was wet, too.

  He handed her his handkerchief. “I don’t know why these things happen. But somehow I believe everything will be okay.”

  She attempted a feeble smile and wiped her nose. “Thanks, Andrew.”

  Grace and Muriel came with tea for everyone. Allison’s cry had cleared her head a bit. She looked over at Muriel’s sad face and realized how much Grandpa must mean to her. After all, Muriel had known him for over thirty years, while she had only known him briefly. She wished she’d known Grandpa all her life. If only Marsha hadn’t kept her away all these years. . . .

  Grace left to see how he was doing. When she returned, Allison knew by her face the news wasn’t good.

  “He’s pretty much the same. Dr. Hartley says i
t doesn’t look very positive,” Grace announced in a monotone voice, her face pale and expressionless.

  “May I see him?” Allison asked.

  “I don’t know.” Grace’s eyes filled up, and Andrew stood once again to absorb Grace’s tears as she cried on his shoulder.

  Why? Why? Why? Allison wondered as she paced back and forth down the narrow corridor. The click of her heels on the shiny tile floor sounded hollow and empty, as if echoing the cries of her heart.

  “I’ll find out if you can see him,” Grace offered as she wiped her eyes. Allison followed her to the nurses’ station and waited as Grace spoke quietly to a large woman with steel gray hair and heavy-rimmed glasses. The woman frowned, glanced at her watch, then down at the clipboard on the counter.

  “I guess it would be all right, but only a few minutes.” She nodded to Allison.

  Grace showed her to Grandpa’s room. “I’ll wait right here.”

  Allison hesitantly entered the dark room. Machines droned quietly and a bluish light illuminated the shiny, clear oxygen tent. It enveloped the bed like a shroud. Tubes protruded from Grandpa’s nose, and his face was pale and lifeless. His chest moved steadily up and down in labored breathing. She slid her hand under the edge of the tent, grasped his hand, and lovingly stroked his callused fingers.

  “Please don’t leave me, Grandpa,” she whispered. She stood motionless, gazing at his face—willing him to live.

  A hand tapped her shoulder. “Allison,” Grace whispered. “It’s been ten minutes. We need go.” To Allison it had felt like ten seconds, but she reluctantly followed Grace from the room.