Enza

by Kristy K. James

  “I think I was in heaven, Daniel. Not for very long. But there was a light. It was so bright and so warm. There was a voice that told me it wasn’t time yet, that I had to go back to you. I – didn’t really want to leave because I’d never felt anything like that before. But I wanted to be with you, too, because I love you so much.” She’d been looking intently at the tray but peeked up at him. “Do you think I’ve lost my mind?”

  “I do not.”

  “Do you think it was real? Or a dream?”

  Daniel hesitated before answering her, his mind reliving the moment when he thought she’d died. Her chest had rattled with the effort it cost her to breathe. She’d been coughing harshly. And then she’d simply stopped. Long enough that he’d known she was gone. And then she’d taken that oh so welcome breath. No more rattling. No more coughing. The fever gone.

  “I don’t think it was a dream, Nina. I think you were in the presence of God and that He, in His mercy, gave you back to me.”

  Chapter 19

  “Marcus! Marcus, I know you’re in there. Open up!” Colby shouted, pounding on the door of the darkened house. No one had seen Marcus since the day of Charles Owens’ funeral. If he hadn’t known it to be five days ago, the pile of papers on the walk would have told him as much. Hopefully he hadn’t fallen ill, too.

  “Wait here,” he said absently, turning around and hurrying down the steps, and around to the back porch. Marcus had never before locked this door and it seemed he hadn’t changed his habits now.

  A slightly sour smell assaulted his nostrils as he crept into the kitchen. In the dim light of evening, he could see a pile of dishes in the sink, which meant that his friend had been eating. If he were ill, he’d have been too weak to fend for himself.

  A quick tour of the main floor led to the second in his search for Marcus. He didn’t have far to look. He was sitting in an arm chair in his almost dark bedroom. Colby walked to the gas lamp on the far wall, turned the switch and light filled the room.

  From the looks of things, Marcus hadn’t shaved in days. Nor slept much either. What little he had gotten must have been in the wrinkled dressing gown he wore. Other than a brief glance, he ignored Colby’s presence entirely. Colby went and knelt in front of him. Taking a hand in his he said,

  “I know things have been hard, my friend, but you can’t run away from life.”

  “It’s too much,” he said tonelessly. “They’re all dying, Colby. Everyone is dying.”

  “Not everyone. You’re still here. I’m still here. And we have to go on living.”

  “I don’t know if I can. Or if I want to.” Colby sighed. This wasn’t good. He hoped the discouragement wasn’t permanent because there was going to be a problem if it was.

  “Marcus, I have something to show you. You need to come downstairs with me now.”

  “I don’t want to see anything.”

  “Marcus, now please.” He tugged on the hand he still held until Marcus rose reluctantly to his feet. Then, like a child, he led him down the stairs and into the parlor. “Wait here.”

  He left the room quickly, to return moments later with two young children in tow. Marcus stared at them as though they were alien beings, eyes wide, jaws slack.

  “Who are they? Why are they in my house?” Colby sat the girls on the settee and walked to stand beside Marcus and whispered,

  “The conductor at the train station tried to get you by telephone, then called me when you didn’t answer. Your friend Derek, and most of his family, died of the influenza, Marcus. These girls are all that’s left, and they came with a letter saying you had agreed to raise his children should something ever happen to him and his wife.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Marcus closed his eyes remembering, Colby assumed, an agreement he seemed to be regretting.

  ~~~

  Shaking his head in disbelief and sadness, Marcus tried to accept the fact that his best friend in the world was gone. Along with his wife and two sons. Then he opened panic filled eyes and focused on the objects before him. “But- Colby, they’re- They’re girls!”

  “Little girls who have lost everything they’ve ever known,” he reminded him gently. “Their parents, their brothers and grandparents, and Lord knows who else. Their home is gone. You promised to take care of them, Marcus.”

  “I know I did. But – little girls, Colby?” He could feel what little color that remained in his face drain. Probably all the way down to his toes. “I don’t know what to do with little girls.”

  “Feed them, clothe them. Love them. I don’t think it’s terribly hard, my friend.”

  Marcus closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over them, peeked out and closed them yet again when the girls remained seated across the room.

  “Their names are Rebecca and Rachael. They’re five years old.”

  “They’re twins.” It wasn’t a question. He’d gotten an excited phone call from Derek the day they’d been born.

  “They most certainly are,” Colby said with a smile. “You‘re going to have a little trouble telling them apart, I suspect.”

  “Could you – could you and the missus take them? I’d pay you-”

  “Anna died a few days ago. I’d be in the same position you are. Marcus, they’re your responsibility now. You’re not going to let Derek down, are you?”

  It took a few moments before Marcus reluctantly shook his head no. He wondered if Colby could tell what a difficult decision this was. But no one could ever accuse Marcus of not fulfilling his responsibilities.

  “No. I won’t let him down.”

  “Have you ever met the girls before?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you should introduce yourself then.”

  ~~~

  For a moment Colby was expecting a complete disaster. That maybe he would just stand there and say, ‘I’m Marcus,” and nothing more. But Colby’s jaw dropped when Marcus McClelland walked slowly – very slowly – to stand before the tiny girls with long blonde curls, knelt down, and said very gently,

  “Hello. My name is Marcus. Your father was my best friend and I’m going to be taking care of you from now on.” He swallowed so hard that Colby heard him clear across the room. “I guess you’re my little girls now.”

  ~~~

  Though the sun was up Elliot saw no reason why he, too, should be. More than half his family had been taken from him in one short week. His beloved wife. A beautiful daughter. Two wonderful sons. More than he could bear. More than anyone should have to bear.

  The future, once so bright and filled with hope was now bleak and empty. Forever filled with the agony of these losses. Places in his heart that would never cease aching for the sight and touch of them. Places that could never be filled with anything but pain.

  He felt a tear tickle his temple as he lay on his back staring at the ceiling. In the bed Margaret would never share with him again. The bed he never wanted to leave because he didn’t want to face this new, lonely and frightening life. So different than what it should have been.

  ‘Take care of them, Elliot. Promise me.’

  “I can’t,” he wept softly, curling onto his side and holding her pillow close.

  ‘Take care of them.’

  “Not without you, Meg. It’s too hard. I can’t do it alone.”

  ‘Promise me.’

  He saw her face again, her eyes pleading with him to go on and make a life for Richard, Kathleen and the baby. And he had promised. Anything to ease her unbearable sorrow. But she hadn’t known what she’d asked of him. The utter impossibility of the task she’d set before him.

  What would she say if she knew he was too weak and spineless to keep that promise? His lips trembled with a little smile. He knew full well what his Meg would say.

  ‘Bad things happen to everyone, Elliot Owens, and you are no exception. But that’s no excuse to give up and hide. Now get yourself out of that bed and go take care of our children.’

  “I’ll try, sweetheart,” he whispered, placing a soft
kiss against her pillow. Reluctantly he put it back beside his, stroking it softly before letting it go. It felt like he would have to let her go.

  It took every ounce of strength he could muster but Elliot did get out of bed. It was Sunday, after all, and his wife would have his head on a platter if he didn’t get this family, what was left of it, into their pew on time.

  It wasn’t long before he was dressed in a suit and glancing at his pocket watch. They had about ninety minutes before they had to leave. Of course Sara Elizabeth was soaked, and he had to take a few minutes to change her. Then he lifted her into his arms, holding her close and wishing Meg could see the beautiful child they’d made.

  His first stop was Kathleen’s room. He rapped lightly on her door and stepped inside. She still slept, with every ‘baby’ she possessed tucked in with her. She had also managed to get hold of her mother’s dressing gown and it was clutched tightly to her breast. A lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to swallow as he knelt beside the bed. He brushed her hair, so much like Margaret’s, away from her face saying thickly,

  “Hey, darlin,’ it’s time to get up.” He forced as much cheerfulness into his voice as possible. It wasn’t much. “Come on, Kathleen. It’s time to get ready for church. Up and at ‘em.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and, for a moment, she looked happy to see him. As she’d been in the not so distant past. Then, as had happened every morning since her mother and brothers’ funeral, she remembered and her eyes filled with sorrow.

  “Good morning,” he said, pasting a smile on his face for her.

  “Good morning, Papa,” she answered quietly, her voice still sleepy.

  “Do you think you can get yourself dressed for church today?” he asked, stoking her cheek.

  “We’re going to church?” She obviously didn’t want to go any more than he did.

  “We sure are. We all promised your mother that we’d take care of each other, and you know how she felt about us going to church.” He leaned close and whispered, “I don’t think I’d want her frowning down us from heaven because we stayed home again, do you?”

  “Oh no, Papa!” At her utterly serious tone, Elliot smiled his first real smile since before their lives had been torn apart.

  “That’s my girl! Now get dressed so I can go wake Richard. I need to get downstairs to fix our breakfast.” He got to his feet and winked at her. “I don’t think Reverend Thornton would be pleased with us if we didn’t eat something and our stomachs grumbled all through the service.”

  Her giggles filled his ears as he walked down the hall as she was imagining, he was sure, the good reverends message being drowned out by four hungry bellies.

  As he’d done at Kathleen’s door, Elliot knocked once and pushed the door open, to find that Richard was not sleeping. Rather he stood by the window, turning as his father entered.

  “Good morning, Pop.”

  “Good morning, son.”

  Even though he was eight years older than his sister, Richard looked every bit as lost as she did, unsure of how to live life now that it had changed so dramatically. Why that should come as a surprise to him, Elliot didn’t know. He wasn’t sure how to go on either, and he’d had a lot more experience than either of his children.

  “Why don’t you get dressed while I make breakfast,” he said, again trying to force some cheerfulness into his voice.

  “Pop?”

  “We’re going to church. That was a hard and fast rule of your mother’s. And we have missed the past few Sundays.” He smiled at his son and turned to leave saying, “I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

  Elliot tried to recall who had sent what as he rummaged through the icebox. He would have to send notes of appreciation to the ladies in the church who had been sending meals and groceries since the funerals. He sent up a prayer of gratitude as he pulled a slab of bacon, wrapped in brown paper, out and headed for the stove.

  Before he realized what he’d done, he’d filled the pan with it, then had to remove more than half. It hurt to know that he would be cooking for three and not seven. One of the endless new things he would have to get used to. He glanced at the bottle, sitting in a bowl of warm water on the counter. He’d have to get used to that, too. Meg had nursed the other children, but feeding Sara was going to be up to him now.

  And maybe someday doing things for just four would begin to feel normal. Because surely they would have to find a new sense of normalcy. Soon. This was simply too hard.

  Richard was the first to join him and, wordlessly, he took a stack of plates from the cupboard. Like Elliot had done, he had to put four back when he realized he’d taken out seven. Elliot’s heart ached at his wounded expression when he hesitated at the table. The last time it had been set, it had been for everyone.

  “Why don’t we sit at my end?” he suggested gently and watched as Richard slowly put one plate at the head, the others on either side. Napkins, glasses and silverware followed, but it didn’t look right. Instead it looked vast and empty. Only the baby, lying on a folded quilt on the other end kept it from looking worse than it did.

  “Can I help with anything, Pop?”

  “I don’t suppose you know how to make biscuits?” Elliot asked helplessly. That had been Meg’s specialty. In the past, when his wife had still been asleep, he’d just gone ahead and made toast. This morning it would have been nice to have something of her with them.

  But it wasn’t to be. Though he scoured the kitchen, Richard couldn’t find a recipe. So toast it would have to be.

  By the time Kathleen entered the kitchen, everything was nearly ready. He saw that she was near tears, the back of her dress gaping open.

  “I tried, Papa, but I can’t fasten the buttons,” she whispered.

  “I’ll do it,” Richard volunteered, sitting in one of the chairs and pulling his sister between his knees.

  It stuck Elliot then how difficult it was going to be for two men to raise these girls. For him especially. Things that Meg would have dealt were now going to fall to him, and he had to admit that they just might be more than he could manage. How was a father supposed to discuss with his daughters the changes that would come as they grew from children to women? He rubbed his chin as he stirred the eggs, not looking forward to the conversations that would come. Conversations sure to embarrass all of them.

  After grace was said, the meal was a relatively silent affair. Only an occasional, “Please pass the bacon,” broke the oppressing silence. So different from the meals eaten before. It was a relief when it was over, and they all rushed to clear the table, putting the dishes in the sink to soak while they were at church.

  In the hall they bundled up in coats and scarves to protect them from the brisk November winds, Sara wrapped snugly in a small quilt, and the blanket her mother had knitted before the influenza. Elliot surveyed their sad little group and, unable to help himself, drew both children to him and held them close.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” he said softly. “Everything is going to be strange and different for a long time to come. But we’re all we have now and we’ll get through this. I promise.”

  “I know we will, Pop,” Richard told him, his voice muffled against his father’s neck.

  “We have to remember that they’re safe in heaven. They’ll never be hurt, or suffer ever again. And they’re waiting for us to join them someday. We must remember that when it gets hard and we don’t know if we can go on. And we have to try to be happy again. That’s what your mother wished for the most. That we would have long, happy lives.” As he said the words, Elliot couldn’t imagine ever coming to a place of happiness again.

  He kissed each of their cheeks and set them away from him. “I love you both. Very much. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Yes, sir. We love you, too, Pop.”

  “All right then. Are we ready to go?”

  At their nods, they left the house, Kathleen walking between her father an
d brother, holding their hands tightly. Sara was so light, even with the blankets, that he hardly felt her weight in his other arm.

  As they strolled down the sidewalk Elliot saw Mr. Mertz approaching them, heading in the other direction. His steps slowed as he neared them, faltering to a stop. For a long moment they just stood there, staring at each other.

  “I knew what he was doing,” the old man said thickly, his faint German accent more pronounced today. “Sometimes I would do things because it made him happy. I once buried a ham bone in my backyard. He was watching me from a tree.” He stopped to take a shaky breath, then his eyes filled with tears and he whispered, “He was a good boy, your Jonathon.”

  Elliot tried to thank him but could only nod his head, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. When Mr. Mertz patted his shoulder, he just nodded again and tried to blink his own tears away.

  Epilogue

  Colby turned the collar of his coat up in an effort to stop some of the cold wind from turning his neck into a solid block of ice. He was trying to hurry to get downtown for the parade that would celebrate the official end of the war. Just yesterday word had reached them. According to the newspaper, communities around the world were celebrating.

  Or pretending to.

  In his opinion the influenza had taken too big a toll for any honest celebrating to be going on. Some estimated that the loss of life from it numbered around twenty million while others thought the number to be closer to forty. Charlotte had only lost a small portion of that but he’d yet to see a face over the past couple of weeks that hadn’t looked haunted.

  Most people had buried at least one family member, and those few who were fortunate enough to have not lost someone close had known many of those who had died. The parade today was nothing more than an effort to keep living. Part of the charade they would play at until life returned to normal. Or something close to it.

  It wasn’t as though they had a choice. Life would always march on, and it would drag each and every one of them along with it, no matter how much they might hurt right now. Time would help to heal their pain, though it would never erase it completely.