“Yes, Cousin Homer Lee does talk a great deal. But I’d say Cousin Oswald is more likely to answer questions. He has an entire record of the family tree, you know.” She frowned. “What sort of questions did you have in mind, Benjamin?”
Ben had a feeling things weren’t going exactly the way they were supposed to. “Well, questions about the government’s fiscal policy. Or maybe what Babe Ruth ate for breakfast.”
They stared silently at him.
“Or what kind of rifles they use in Alaska,” Ben added weakly. “For shootin’ polar bears.”
“Oh, dear! You mean those beautiful animals with the lovely white fur?”
“Yes.”
“I think that’s just terrible. Don’t you, sister?”
Miss Mamie shook her head. “I declare, I can’t imagine anybody doin’ such a thing.”
Ben swallowed hard. He glanced at the magazine on his lap and those still in the bag. “Well—I reckon that isn’t what I really came to talk to you about. What I wanted to say is that I’ve got some magazines here, and they’re really very good magazines. In fact I was lookin’ at some of them on the way out here, and they’ve got some real good stories in them.”
“How excitin’!” Miss Emily exclaimed.
“Yes. And actually, the reason I’m here is to offer you ladies a unique opportunity. You see, I represent these periodicals, which are the finest now bein’ published in this country. In fact I’d say they are about the most highly regarded publications in the world.”
“Think of that!” Miss Mamie said.
“And now,” Ben continued, “for a limited time only, I can make an exceptional offer to a few very carefully chosen persons among the well-read people in our community.”
They moved to the edge of their chairs. “And we’re among the well-read persons you’ve chosen?”
It was coming easy now. Ben felt his voice change to a deeper, more authoritative tone. “Yes, ma’am. You and only a few others are bein’ given the opportunity to have these stimulatin’ periodicals delivered to your door week after week for a full year.”
“You’d be deliverin’ ’em personally?”
“That’s correct. Now, this special offer is for all four magazines, and the cost is only five dollars. However, if you don’t wish to purchase all four of them, we have another offer that—”
“We do,” Miss Mamie said.
Ben stopped, his train of thought suddenly lost. “You do what, Miss Mamie?”
“We do want the special offer. We want all four magazines.”
Ben’s heart leaped in his chest. “You do?”
Miss Emily nodded agreement. “I was sayin’ to sister only last evenin’—we’re so out of touch with today’s world. The dear Brontë sisters are wonderfully reassurin’. But we should take time to acquaint ourselves with the here and now. And here, this mornin’, you stand with the perfect solution!”
“You really want all four?”
“Oh, yes. What did you say the magazines were again?”
“Uh—The Saturday Evening Post, Liberty, Colliers, and Literary Digest.”
“Oh, don’t those sound marvelous, Emily. Such impressive names. And I think I have five dollars right here in my purse.”
Ben didn’t quite believe it. According to the sales brochure he had done everything wrong. But Miss Mamie brought out the five dollar bill and placed it on the table.
Ben had to borrow a pencil to write up the order. When he finished, he left a current copy of each of the magazines, and the ladies escorted him to the door.
“We’re ever so grateful for you and your company selectin’ us, Benjamin. And we promise to read every one of your magazines cover to cover.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy ’em.”
Miss Mamie suddenly gave her sister a questioning look. “Emily? Do you think we should tell Benjamin about the gift?”
“Oh, yes, let’s do. He was so nice to come all the way out here to let us buy his magazines.”
“Now, you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone, Benjamin. Especially your dear mother.”
“Okay,” Ben murmured.
“Well, yesterday we sent off to Richmond for a present to give to your mother.”
“It’s just the most wonderful thing! I know she’s just goin’ to be just as excited as she can be.”
“Shall we tell him what it is, sister?”
“Oh, no!” Miss Mamie exclaimed, “Let’s have it be a surprise for Benjamin too. A surprise for the whole family!”
“But we’ll give you a little hint. You just try to picture what your dear mother would like more than anythin’ else in the entire world. The very thing that would make her the happiest right now.”
Ben knew very well what would make his mother happier than anything—to be able to get out of bed and walk. But he didn’t think there was anything in Richmond that would help her do that.
“Aren’t you excited, Benjamin?”
“Yes’m.”
“Now, don’t you go and tell anybody. It’ll just be our secret.”
Ben nodded, uncertain what it was he wasn’t supposed to tell anybody.
“And don’t you forget to deliver our magazines next week.”
“I won’t.”
Walking home, Ben tried to imagine what the Baldwin sisters’ gift might be, but he gave it up. He finally smiled to himself, thinking about the sale he had made. Grandpa would be even more surprised than he had been. And his mother would be the happiest of all. He was a good salesman. In fact he could probably become the best magazine salesman in the whole country. Then the brochures would have new quotes: “I was discouraged at first. But through diligence and hard work I sold four full-year subscriptions on my first call. With my earnings I am now paying all my mother’s doctor bills, and I will have enough left over for college.” B. W., WALTON’S MOUNTAIN, VIRGINIA.
It was a busy morning at the Walton house. The first visitor was Miss Hunter, who brought a huge pot of stew for the family, and an orange cake and a whole box full of books for Olivia. As quickly as she left, Reverend Fordwick and Mrs. Brimmer arrived with the signature quilt the ladies of the church had been working on. Olivia was thrilled, and everyone in the family came up to look at the quilt.
All of this activity made it almost impossible for Elizabeth and Jim-Bob to get the kitchen floor scrubbed and polished, and for Grandma to get the washing done. It was lunchtime when Reverend Fordwick and Mrs. Brimmer left, and then Ben came bursting into the house with the startling news that he had sold four magazine subscriptions. Olivia had finished lunch and was scheduled for her nap, but no one had the heart to stop Ben from going up to tell her of his triumph. When he came back down he went directly for his canvas bag and headed for the door.
“Where you goin’, young man?” Grandma demanded.
“I still got twenty magazines to sell. And I’m not hungry at all, Grandma.”
John smiled and pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Ben. I know they’re all goin’ to be very disappointed, but I think the people of Walton’s Mountain can wait another ten minutes for your sales pitch.”
The fourth visitor was a complete surprise to John-Boy. After his trip to Boatwright College and his talk with Dr. Miller, John-Boy’s initial excitement had waned considerably. Thinking back on the conversation, he realized the doctor had promised to do nothing more than to try and get some pamphlets about the Sister Kenny treatment. And even if he were successful, there was no guarantee that the treatment would help his mother—or even that the doctor would approve of the treatments. At best, John-Boy expected the pamphlets to come in the mail, along with a letter expressing the doctor’s opinion of them. The last thing he expected was a visit from the doctor himself.
But suddenly he appeared. A big black sedan rolled quietly to a stop behind his father’s truck, and a blond-haired young man who looked like a football player jumped out from behind the wheel and hurried around to help the doctor out of the back seat.
John turned off the saw, and they all stared while the young man set up some kind of collapsible wheelchair and half lifted the doctor into it.
“This the Waltons’ house?” the doctor’s voice boomed.
John-Boy was speechless.
“Yes, it is,” his father said. “I’m John Walton. Can I help you?”
“Daddy,” John-Boy stammered, “it’s Dr. Miller. The doctor I told you about at the college.”
Dr. Miller grinned and rolled his wheelchair forward. “Huh! I thought this young fellow’s name was John Walton. Now which one of you is the real one?”
John explained the difference, and Dr. Miller introduced Tom Hartman, his assistant. After the young man shook hands, he retreated a couple steps as if he knew the doctor wanted no one hovering over him.
“That address you gave me, John-Boy,” the doctor said, “got me only as far as a place called Ike Godsey’s. But it was a treat to visit an old-fashioned country store again. What’re you building out here, Mr. Walton?”
John laughed. “Nothin’, really. That’s my business—cuttin’ wood.”
“You’re a lucky man.” The doctor smiled. “Say, I’d sure enjoy a cup of coffee after my long trip.”
“I would too,” John grinned.
Tom Hartman lingered a few feet behind until the doctor had propelled himself to the back door. Then he stepped forward and swung the wheelchair up the steps in one motion.
Apparently, everyone in the house except Olivia was watching from the kitchen window. They were all standing just inside the door, and Grandpa rushed forward to help the doctor.
Dr. Miller waved him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Once I’m over the steps, the only thing you have to do is keep out of my way.”
John introduced everyone and Grandma got the coffee pot going.
“You’ve got a fine looking family here, Mr. Walton. Having been an only child, I’m envious.” He leaned to the side for a better view of Elizabeth. “And you’re the youngest, eh, young lady?”
John-Boy hadn’t realized it, but both Elizabeth and Jim-Bob had retreated almost to the living room, watching the doctor with a mixture of awe and concern. In their minds, this was the condition their mother would be in shortly. Elizabeth responded with a shy nod.
The doctor patted the side of his wheelchair. “You ever seen one of these things before?”
She shook her head.
“Well, they’re a lot faster than they look. In fact, the other day I beat Tom here in a hundred-yard dash. And he’s on the college track team.”
Elizabeth and Jim-Bob smiled.
Grandma served the coffee, and Tom removed a chair so Dr. Miller could swing himself close to the table.
“Well, I guess John-Boy told you all about our conversation the other day, and the pamphlets I wanted to get for you.” He brought some papers from his jacket pocket. “I got them quicker than I expected, but I know how important each day seems when you’re first trying to work your way back. So I decided to deliver them in person.”
“We sure appreciate it,” John said.
“I appreciate having an excuse to come up to such beautiful country.” His smile faded and he spread the pamphlets on the table, regarding them solemnly for a minute.
Grandma quietly took a chair, and the doctor now had everyone’s breathless attention.
“What this woman has to say is very interesting. But I must tell you her treatment is also a very radical departure from the methods now being used.”
“You said she doesn’t believe in splints?” John-Boy asked.
“No, she doesn’t. She insists that instead of preventing muscle damage, as most doctors believe, the splints can cause it. As I understand it, she thinks the muscles go into a sort of spasm and need to be relaxed with hot compresses.”
Grandma nodded. “Now that makes sense to me.”
Dr. Miller smiled. “It’s not so different from the kind of treatment doctors might have prescribed a thousand years ago. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Modern practitioners can still learn a lot from folk medicine. Sister Kenny uses pieces of wool blanket wrung out in boiling water. Then, once the muscles relax, she starts massaging them. The idea is to keep the pathways from the brain to the muscles open.”
Grandpa frowned. “But Dr. Vance said the nerves are dead and can’t be regenerated.”
“Yes, that’s possible. But it’s also possible the nerves could atrophy, or die, from lack of use. Unfortunately, we just don’t know enough about what really happens.”
“Well, the heat and massage sounds reasonable to me,” Grandma said conclusively.
Dr. Miller nodded. “Many of my colleagues say it’s far too simple. You understand, of course, that ultimately it’s up to your family doctor. If he sees merit in it—” He shrugged.
“We’ll get the pamphlets to him right away,” John-Boy said.
John frowned and gazed across the table. “Doctor, what is your personal opinion? If Livvy was your patient, would you go ahead and try this Kenny treatment?”
The question brought a wry smile to the doctor’s face. “You put me in a very awkward position, Mr. Walton. In a way, I’m in the same spot you are. There’s nothing I’d rather see than the reports of a full-scale, scientific test of Sister Kenny’s practices. I’d like to know for certain if they are one hundred percent successful, or sixty percent, or forty percent successful. Or if they are totally useless. Or even harmful. Unfortunately, there just hasn’t been any scientific testing done at all. Thus no such reports exist. Therefore, my opinion has no more merit than does that of your wife’s doctor. In fact, as applied to her, my opinion probably has even less merit. At least he has been attending her and knows exactly how the disease has progressed.”
There wasn’t anyone at the table who hadn’t hoped he would say the Kenny treatment was good, or might be good, or that at least it was worth a try.
Dr. Miller saw their disappointment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have brought you more encouraging news. I wish I could have brought you a bottle of medicine that would have her out of bed and walking in twenty-four hours. I think one of the most painful things a doctor has to do is caution patients against putting too much faith in experimental medicines or treatments. As scientists, we really have no choice. And as a doctor, I can make no judgment on something like the Sister Kenny treatment. All I can tell you are the facts as we know them right now. And that isn’t much. Sister Kenny claims a high rate of recovery, but there is no proof to back up her claims. In time, no doubt, her claims will be investigated. Then we’ll have enough information on which to make recommendations.”
John nodded. “We appreciate you’re bein’ honest about it.”
It was no more, nor any less than they should have expected. It was about the same thing Dr. Miller had told John-Boy at the college. But it was still disappointing.
Dr. Miller smiled. “Do you think Mrs. Walton might feel up to seeing me for a few minutes?”
“I think she’d enjoy talkin’ to you, Doctor,” John said.
Grandma looked at Erin, then nodded. “I reckon she’s probably awake by now.”
John-Boy gathered the pamphlets as the others rose. “Daddy? I could take the truck and get these over to Dr. Vance real quick.”
“I think that’s a good idea, son.”
Dr. Miller’s assistant helped him up the stairs. Then, only John and Erin accompanied him inside. Olivia was sitting up in bed, and showed no surprise at the entrance of a man in a wheelchair.
“John-Boy told me all about you.” She smiled after John introduced them.
“He told me all about you, too.”
Dr. Miller made no effort to examine her, but asked detailed questions about how she felt and how much she could move her limbs. Olivia demonstrated, making unsteady, almost imperceptible movements of her legs. Then, in the same circumspect terms he used downstairs, Dr. Miller discussed the Sister Kenny treatment. When he finished, Olivia smiled stoica
lly.
“Then it’s up to Dr. Vance?”
“Yes. You know, Mrs. Walton, the movement you can make with your legs is very encouraging.”
Olivia laughed. “I’m glad you could even see it. I thought maybe it was just in my imagination.”
“No, I could see it, all right. And I’m not speaking so much as a doctor right now. I’m remembering when I was in your place. I couldn’t do that for months.”
“I’ve been exercising. If I keep it up, I’ll build up more and more control, don’t you think?”
Olivia’s enthusiasm seemed to alarm the doctor. “It’s certainly possible,” he said tentatively. Then he gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know. You want more than ‘possibilities.’ You want certainties. I’m afraid there just aren’t any with polio, Mrs. Walton.”
Watching from across the bed, John felt a wave of compassion for Olivia. He wished the doctor would tell her something positive; encourage her with the exercises, or tell her there was even a slim chance of recovery. But he understood the doctor’s cautiousness.
“It’s natural for you to want to get back to the person you were before this happened,” Dr. Miller said. “But you should be realistic and accept the fact that there are other possibilities.”
“You mean I should be willin’ to settle for less than that?” Olivia asked.
“No, not for less. But maybe for something different.” He suddenly smiled, as if reflecting on his own situation. “It’s really not so bad, Mrs. Walton.”
It was easy to forget that Dr. Miller was crippled and permanently confined to a wheelchair. His inner strength and commanding manner gave the impression of energetic virility. The subtle reminder of his real condition brought a faint blush to Olivia’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, doctor. And I do appreciate your comin’ to see me.”
He waved aside the apology. “Mrs. Walton, I’m looking forward to the day you’ll be coming to see me.”
John waited until they were downstairs and out to the car before he asked the question. “Doctor Miller, do you think the movement in Livvy’s legs means there’s some hope?”
The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story Page 8
