When Dr. Vance arrived with the splints for her legs, Olivia lay in glum silence while he adjusted and secured them in place.
“You must realize, Mrs. Walton, that these are not supports for walking or moving around. They’re simply protective devices. You still must not make any effort to move your legs or exert yourself in any way. Now, how do they feel? They don’t hurt, do they?”
“No,” she said, “I can’t even feel them.”
“That’s fine.”
Olivia twisted her head to look at them. “I just hope they don’t interfere with my exercises.”
The doctor smiled. “Well, it’ll be a long time before you start doing any exercises. In the future we’ll think about fitting you for braces. Then maybe we can work out some exercises to strengthen your arms.”
“I’ve already been doin’ it. I can almost sit up by myself.”
Dr. Vance glanced sharply at John, but turned quickly back as Olivia suddenly rocked to the side and got an elbow beneath her. She tried to get the other arm behind and swing up in one movement, but her hand slipped and she fell back. She laughed. “Well, I can almost get halfway up.”
Dr. Vance was shocked. “Mrs. Walton, you really shouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you may not be aware of it, but even in trying to sit up like that you tend to use your leg muscles. That’s exactly what I’m cautioning you against doing.”
“But I can’t just lie here all day doin’ nothin’.”
Dr. Vance sighed with frustration and looked over at John. But John could only shake his head. Olivia had decided to exercise, and once she had made the decision, nothing short of tying her down to the bed was going to stop her.
“Mrs. Walton, if you hope to prevent your leg muscles from being distorted, that’s exactly what you must do—lie there all day doing nothing.”
“But Dr. Vance, you say that I won’t ever walk again anyway. So what difference does it make if my leg muscles are distorted? In the meantime, I can’t see any reason not to strengthen the muscles I can use.”
Her logic was too much for him. He stared silently at her for a minute and finally nodded. “Well—you may have a point. But I’ll warn you, it’s not going to be as easy as you think.”
Olivia smiled. “Now, the next question is, after I can sit up, how do I go about gettin’ the feelin’ back in my legs?”
“Mrs. Walton, you should understand that with polio the nerves are destroyed. Now, skin or muscle, and even to some extent, bone tissue can regenerate itself. This is not the case with nerve tissue.”
“What if they haven’t been destroyed?”
“Well, that—yes, it’s true that in some cases the nerves are only partially affected. However, that is rare.”
“But let’s assume I’m one of the rare cases. Then what should I do?”
Again Dr. Vance looked at John as if for help.
“Is there some kind of medicine?” John asked, “Somethin’ that would help?”
Dr. Vance shook his head. “Not that I know of.” He sighed and got his bag. “I don’t think either of you should get your hopes up too much. The recovery rate from polio is extremely low.” He looked at Olivia and smiled grimly. “But I do admire your determination, Mrs. Walton. If those splints give you any discomfort let me know and I’ll make some adjustments.”
John walked him out to his car. “At least try to stop her from overdoing it, Mr. Walton. I’ve never heard of a patient behaving this way. Usually they’re so exhausted from the ordeal it takes weeks before they can even lift their heads.”
“Well, Olivia’s kind of an unusual person.”
Dr. Vance tossed his bag in the car. “I just hope she doesn’t regret it later.” He got in the car and John closed the door for him.
“Doc, I reckon we’re runnin’ up quite a bill for your services. But I guess I’m in about the same spot as everybody else in Walton’s Mountain. If I can pay a little bit each month, I’d sure appreciate it.”
The doctor gave him a thin smile. “That’ll be fine, Mr. Walton. However, considering your wife’s behavior, I wonder if I’m not just wasting my time coming out here.”
“Oh, she appreciates it, Doc. It’s just that Olivia’s not used to lying in bed much.”
The doctor gave him a weary nod. “Well, I’ll be back in a day or two.”
John watched him drive off and then looked up at the bedroom window. According to what Dr. Vance said, even if he had a million dollars there was nothing more he could do for Olivia. That was the frustrating part of the whole thing. And as it was, he didn’t even have enough to pay Dr. Vance to come out and check Olivia’s pulse.
John shoved his hands in his back pockets and wandered over to the truck. For several minutes he gazed ruefully at the two front tires. It was hard to believe they were still holding air. Two layers of fabric were visible on the left one, and there was a distinct bulge at one spot. The tire on the right side didn’t look much better.
The truck was loaded with firewood. In the past two days John had made a complete circuit of the valley, offering the two cords of wood at the price he usually charged for one. But no one had been even remotely interested. Most people had no cash at all, and were too deeply in debt to think about buying anything more on credit. Others had taken to cutting wood themselves to save what little money they had.
John looked over at his saw, and the big log he had dragged into place to cut into a timber for Halverson, the contractor. He wondered. If anyone in Jefferson County had any money, it was likely to be George Halverson. At least he had a going construction business. It was a chance. John took one last look at the tires, then started up the truck and headed for Ike Godsey’s.
At least the weather had taken a turn for the better. The temperature at night still dropped below freezing, and patches of old snow remained in the chilly shadows of the trees. But the sun was pleasantly warm in the clear blue sky. With the truck so heavily loaded, John drove cautiously, avoiding the worst of the deep ruts and potholes.
The iron wood stove was going in Ike’s store, giving the place a cozy warmth to go along with the smell of leather and sawdust and ground coffee.
“Hey, John! How you gettin’ along?’
“Pretty good, Ike. How you doin’?”
Ike was in the back, playing pool with Sheriff Ep Bridges.
“John, I’m real sorry to hear about Livvy,” Ep said. “How’s she feelin’?”
“A lot better’n the doctor thinks she should, I reckon. He put some splints on her legs today.”
Ike shook his head. “It’s a real shame. Now there’s Olivia, about as healthy as anybody you ever saw, and just struck down like that. Don’t make no sense at all. How are the kids takin’ it?”
“Real good, Ike. They’re all pitchin’ in, makin’ the best of it.”
“Well, you let us know if there’s anythin’ we can do to help,” Ep offered. “They don’t make ’em any better’n Livvy.”
“Thanks, Ep.”
John watched while Ike carefully lined up an easy corner shot. He missed the ball entirely.
Ep Bridges laughed and moved around the table. “Ike, if you can’t do no better’n that I’m goin’ to start shootin’ left-handed to make this a contest.”
Ike massaged his elbow. “Got a little touch of the rheumatism this mornin’.”
John smiled. “Ike, you mind if I use your phone?”
“No, go right ahead.”
John cranked the instrument and answered all of Fanny Tatum’s questions about Olivia before he asked her to connect him with the Halverson Construction Company in Charlottesville.
“Olivia’s got a big surprise comin’ pretty soon,” Fanny said while she placed the call.
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Well, I really shouldn’t tell you, but the ladies at the church are makin’ her a big signature quilt. And John, it’s just the most beautiful thing you ever saw.”
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p; “She’ll sure like that.”
“Don’t you go tellin’ her now. I reckon it’ll be ready tomorrow or the next day.”
“I won’t, Fanny.”
A girl answered the phone and put John through to George Halverson.
“John, I wish you had a telephone up there so I could call you. I just can’t tell you how bad I feel about Livvy. How’s she gettin’ along?”
John was surprised the news had traveled so fast. But polio probably frightened people enough that word spread quickly.
“Doctor says she’s doin’ better than expected, George. I’ll tell her you asked.”
“You be sure and do that. And how are you and the family gettin’ on?”
John smiled. “Well, that’s kind of why I called you, George. I’ve been workin’ on those timbers for that bridge job you’ve got comin’ up. I was wonderin’ if you might be able to take some a little early.”
Halverson hesitated. “How early you mean, John? If you’ve got a problem storin’ ’em, I could probably put some in my equipment shed.” He paused. “But I don’t reckon that’s what you’re gettin’ at, is it.”
“No. I was hopin’ you might be able to pay for ’em early, too.”
John heard the squeak of Halverson’s chair tilting back, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t asked. He hated the idea of accepting any kind of charity, or begging money from anyone. He forced a smile into his voice.
“Listen, it’s not real urgent, George. Those things are just startin’ to pile up in my barn, and I thought if you wanted to take delivery early I just happen to have the time right now.”
“John, I wish I could accommodate you. The fact is, I been over at the bank all mornin’ tryin’ to negotiate a loan, and they turned me down. I’m not sure I can meet my payroll this week. I sure wish that bridge job was startin’ tomorrow.”
John dropped the subject. They talked about deer hunting for a few minutes and ended the conversation with John promising to come down and see him when he got the chance. He stood at the phone for a minute and looked back at the pool players.
“Hey, Ike. You or Ep got any need for some good oak firewood? Half price today.”
“Not me,” Ep said. “I got tired of haulin’ wood into the house and haulin’ ashes out. Got me one of them new oil stoves.”
“Sorry, John,” Ike added, “I think I got enough to last the rest of the winter. Oh, by the way, that refrigerator part you ordered for the Claybournes came in this mornin’. It’s right there by the cash register.”
John took the part and got back into his truck. He might as well take the thing out and install it. And today was as good a time as any to have a little talk with Stuart Lee about the facts of life.
Driving out to the Claybournes, John thought about young Stuart Lee and wondered what the boy might have been thinking when he put the one dollar bill into that envelope. He’d probably never earned a penny in his life by working. And he probably had no idea what it cost to buy food and clothing for a family of eleven people—nor any idea what it would have cost him to have someone come up from Charlottesville to repair that refrigerator. Stuart Lee’s father had bought him that new Packard roadster and sent him off to the University of Virginia, and no doubt kept his pockets full of spending money for four years. It wasn’t too surprising if the boy had no understanding about money.
John cautioned himself against getting too angry about the whole thing. Very likely when the matter was brought to his attention, Stuart Lee would be embarrassed and pull out his wallet with all kinds of apologies.
For an instant, John thought somebody was deer hunting in the area. The loud bang seemed to come from his left, startlingly close. But then there was the sharp screech of air escaping from a tire and he was suddenly fighting the steering wheel, struggling to keep the heavy load from tilting too far to the side.
“Damn!" he said when he brought the truck to a stop.
It took him almost an hour to repair it. He had a patch kit and an old tire-boot under the front seat, but he had to use three patches to cover the three-inch slit in the innertube. And then his rusty old pump leaked more air than it forced into the tube. Once he got the truck started again, John had grave doubts about how much longer either of the tires would last. But if he could get three more dollars from Stuart Lee he could probably make it down to Charlottesville and buy a couple used ones.
John parked in the back, and Dewey was at the door as quickly as he got his toolbox out. “Afternoon, Mr. Walton. Fine day, ain’t it?”
“Sure is, Dewey. Your rheumatism feelin’ better?”
Dewey had a silver platter in his hand, polishing it. “Gone away completely, Mr. Walton. Feelin’ fine now. How’s Mrs. Walton gettin’ along?”
“Good as can be expected, I reckon. You got some place I can wash up before I get started here?”
Dewey showed him to a small washroom off the pantry, and John scrubbed the grease and dirt from his hands. When he came out, Mrs. Claybourne was leaving the kitchen. She smiled. “Oh, Mr. Walton. Dewey told me you were here. Would you care to have a cup of coffee with me in the drawing room?”
“I’d appreciate that, Mrs. Claybourne, but I reckon I’d better get that part into your refrigerator.”
“Oh, I’m sure that can wait. And I do want to hear how Olivia’s getting along. I was shocked to hear about it, Mr. Walton.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I asked Dewey to serve coffee instead of tea. I know how you men prefer it.”
John smiled. “Well, in that case—”
It had been years since John had been in the Claybournes’ drawing room. That visit had been brief; only long enough to replace a pane of broken glass. It was an impressive room. One end was dominated by a white marble fireplace. Above it there was a huge oil painting of General Harlan McKelvey, Mrs. Claybourne’s grandfather. There were smaller portraits along the side wall, and all the brightly polished furniture stood on yellow carpeting that felt as soft as a down comforter. Mrs. Claybourne led them across to the two sofas in front of the fireplace.
“I’d forgotten how grand this room is, Mrs. Claybourne. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a room as pretty as this even in a magazine.”
“Yes, this room is my sanctuary.” She glanced around. “I always feel so much more secure surrounded by reminders of the past.”
John smiled. “I know. There’s the ruins of an old cabin up on the mountain that gives me the same feelin’. Course it never was quite like this.”
Dewey brought in a silver tray with coffee and cups, along with some pastries.
“Now, tell me about Olivia,” Mrs. Claybourne said once they were served.
John told her what the doctor said and about Olivia’s determination to bring some life back into her legs.
“Well, I hope she doesn’t get her hopes up too high,” Mrs. Claybourne commented. “Carter’s second cousin in Savannah got polio when she was fourteen years old and she’s never walked a step since, poor thing—and with the finest medical advice in the world. And the cost was appalling. I do hope the expense is not going to be too much of a problem for you.”
John was tempted to bring up the question of Stuart Lee’s payment for his repair services. But Mrs. Claybourne probably had less understanding about money than the boy did. “Oh, I reckon we’ll get through it somehow, Mrs. Claybourne. Stuart Lee doesn’t happen to be home today, does he?”
She smiled. “No. And I imagine you can guess where he is.”
“The Weatherbys’?”
“I do think he’s going to marry that girl.” She sighed. “And Amelia—nearly sixteen—off to college in another year. It’s really distressing to think about one’s children growing up and gallivanting around the world. But you must know all about that, Mr. Walton.”
“Yes, I do.”
She frowned. “Stuart Lee did pay you the other day, didn’t he?”
John hesitated. If he was going to bring up the subject, now was certainly the time. But it onl
y seemed fair to confront Stuart Lee first. He smiled. “Yes, he did.”
“Oh, good. Stuart Lee told me it was all taken care of. But he’s been so distracted lately I thought he might have forgotten. I’m so glad he’s learning about money and financial matters. With so many people doing without these days, I think it’s in rather poor taste for us to indulge in any extravagances. Don’t you, Mr. Walton?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He wondered if Stuart Lee might have regarded paying a decent wage to someone as an extravagance. John emptied his cup and returned it to the tray.
“Oh, do have one of these cream puffs, Mr. Walton. Stuart Lee gets them for me in Richmond.”
“The coffee was fine. Nothing else, thank you, Mrs. Claybourne.”
“Oh, but these are especially delicious. Perhaps you’d like to take some of them home for your family. Children do love sweets, don’t they.” She put down her cup. “I’ll just have Dewey make up a package—”
John wasn’t sure why, but anger suddenly rose inside of him. His wife was lying in bed and was likely to be crippled the rest of her life; he had a truckoad of firewood that he couldn’t sell; and two tires that were so bad he probably couldn’t deliver the wood even if he could sell it. And Mrs. Claybourne, who had never missed a meal in her life, was offering him cream puffs to take home to his children. They probably cost ten cents apiece.
“Please don’t, Mrs. Claybourne. I really don’t want the cream puffs.” He put his napkin back on the tray. “And I’ve got lots of things to do today, so I think I’d better get started.”
He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. But for an instant she looked startled. Then her smile quickly returned. “How selfish of me. I sometimes forget how much providing for that big family of yours must take. I’m sure you must be the busiest man in the whole county, Mr. Walton.”
“Well, not quite, Mrs. Claybourne.”
She moved toward the door with him. “Will you be going past the post office on your way home, Mr. Walton?”
“You mean Ike’s store? Yes, I reckon I will.”
The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story Page 5
