East of the Sun: a 20th century inspirational romance.

by Hope Franke Strauss

  “No, I’m afraid not. Lillian Emerson usually takes care of that, too. It can go a bit longer, for you.”

  For you? Was he flirting with her?

  “Thanks. I’ll take care of it as soon as I get on top of things around here.”

  Justin caught Eden’s cue to slip the cat food out of sight before ringing it up. He bagged the goods, Eden gave one bag to Eleanor and carried the other one herself. “Good to see you again,” she said.

  The bells above the door rang as she opened it, and she waited for Sophie and her mother to exit first.

  Justin called out, “Hey, Eden. Maybe we can go for a drink together sometime.”

  She smiled over her shoulder. “I’d like that.”

  Eden wanted to skip home like a little girl. She grabbed Sophie by the hand, and fell into rhythm with her. Sophie’s tiny voice sang, “Hip-pity-hop to the barber shop, to buy a bag of candy…”

  Eden joined in, “Some for me and some for you and some for Uncle Andy.” She slowed down for her mother. Eleanor caught up to them and passed by with her quick, short strides.

  Sophie started chattering. “I know what one plus one is, Mommy.”

  “Yeah?” Eden said absent-mindedly. Her thoughts were not on mathematics.

  “Two.”

  “Good. That’s great.” She was wondering how long she would have to wait before she could go back to Kipper’s Market so that she didn’t look pushy or desperate.

  “I know how to spell red, too.”

  “You do?” Maybe she should let him call her? He could track her down through her mother.

  “R-E-D.”

  “Wow. Where did you learn that?” If he didn’t call, she’d go back in a couple days. They’d need milk again by then.

  “Sesame Street. Wanna hear me count to ten?”

  Maybe he was just being polite. Surely he must remember how badly she had treated him. She winced. She and her friend Marcia had enjoyed making jokes at the expense of the other kids who were less than cool. She remembered Marcia picking on him after school one day. Eden hadn’t stopped her. She just stood by and laughed.

  Yeah. She was jumping to conclusions.

  “Mommy! You’re not listening to me!”

  “Yes I am. What is it, Sophie?”

  “Wanna hear me count to ten?”

  “Yes, of course. Count away.”

  They were nearing the entrance to their driveway, and Eleanor was already turning the corner. Time to stop daydreaming. Sophie began, “One, two three…”

  6

  Eleanor

  Ellie filled the glass bowl with a floury mixture, moistening it with water and eggs. She dropped a small amount onto the frying pan to test it. Interrupted by the sound of knocking on the front door, she put the utensils down on the counter, rubbed her hands on her apron, and headed for the living room. “Coming.”

  She opened the door to a tall girl with short, dirty-blond hair curled neatly off her face.

  “Lillian!” Ellie wondered if she would ever look as good as her friend, and then to her dismay, she spotted a glob of pancake batter hanging from a loose auburn strand that had escaped a bobby pin. She wiped it off onto her apron and pushed the offending hair behind her ears.

  Lillian had her arms outstretched with a basket in her hands.“Hello, Ellie. Ma told me to bring these strawberries to you. Fresh picked today.”

  “Why, thank you. Come on in.” Lillian Emerson followed Ellie to the kitchen and placed her gift on the counter. “These are simply delicious,” Ellie said, popping a second berry into her mouth. “They will go great with the pancakes I’m making for supper.”

  “How’s your ma, Ellie?”

  “Oh, about the same.” Ellie wouldn’t even admit to herself that her mother’s illness was becoming worse. “How is your family?”

  “Good enough. Ma has us working like crazy now that George and Joseph are off fighting in the war. It just leaves Joshua and me to do all the chores.”

  Ellie blushed at the mention of the youngest brother’s name She busied herself with the pancakes. “Have you heard from George or Joseph?”

  “Got a letter from George about a month ago. The mail takes so long. Nothing from Joseph. It’s about driving Ma crazy with worry. I just hope the war ends soon and they can come home again.”

  “Yes, war is a terrible thing.” Ellie silently thanked God that Joshua Emerson was too young to enlist.

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  A pancake slipped from the flipper to the floor. “Drat!” She scooped it into the slop pail for the pigs. “Like wh-who?”

  “My brother, Josh.”

  “Of course I like him. What’s not to like?”

  “I mean in that way.” Lillian grinned.

  Ellie was aghast. “I do not!”

  “You do so.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do so.”

  Ellie let out an exasperated breath. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  Lillian cocked brow. “Because I can tell.”

  “How?”

  “By the way you look at him. I’ve seen you in church and at school all blushing red and embarrassed when he says ‘hi’ to you.”

  Ellie was mortified that her feelings were so transparent, especially to Joshua’s little sister. She stared at her friend, speechless, not noticing that the pancakes were beginning to burn.

  “It’s okay, Ellie, I won’t tell.” Lillian skipped to the door. “Besides, he likes you, too.” She waved goodbye and disappeared.

  Ellie burst out laughing, and rescued the pancakes just in time.

  7

  Eden

  WHILE putting away the meagre groceries, Eden discovered a cupboard filled with mouldy bread.

  “Geez, Mom. What died in here?” She found a black garbage bag and began to toss in the rotten loaves one by one.

  “Stop that!” Eleanor said, “We need that bread.”

  “Mom, it’s all mouldy.”

  “No it’s not.”

  “Yes it is.” Eden proceeded with her task.

  Eleanor stomped her feet.“Stop that! You’re throwing out perfectly good bread!”

  “It’s not good anymore, Mom.” Eden pointed to the green and white fuzz. “Can’t you see the mould?” Eden held it out in display and then put the loaf in the bag. Her mother took it out.

  “Men are starving in the war,” Eleanor spit out, “and you think you can throw out perfectly good bread?”

  Eden stopped. Which war was her mother talking about? Somehow she didn’t think it was a recent one. “All right, Mom. We’ll keep it.” For now.

  Her mother had lost it, Eden thought. Completely bonkers. She always was a bit on the forgetful and ornery side. No wonder she had found her too embarrassing to introduce to her friends. But now it wasn’t just about an off-centre personality. It was scary. Her mother was ill. Eden was thankful that the doctor’s appointment was just a few hours away. But before they could go, she had another battle with her mother that she had to win.

  The bath.

  Strategy was what she needed. First she’d fill the tub herself. Then she’d watch her mother strip off the essentials, and she wouldn’t leave until Eleanor had gotten in the water. While her mother was busy bathing, she’d throw her clothes—might as well strip the sheets, too—into the washing machine, which was in the laundry room off the kitchen, an add-on built by her grandfather Williams. She might even be able to sneak in a quick vacuum. No problem.

  She made the big announcement. “Okay, Mom, you need to have a bath before we see the doctor today.”

  “I had a bath.”

  “When? Last night didn’t actually count.”

  “I had a bath.”

  Fine. Eden marched up the stairs and cranked the taps. When the water level was sufficient, she turned to go downstairs to retrieve her mother. Eleanor stood in the doorway, and Eden all but knocked her over.

  “Mom! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

/>   Eleanor had nothing on but her undies. Good, Eden thought, at least she was co-operating. She left her in the washroom and shut the door. “Make sure you get in the tub, Mom. I won’t be fooled today.” Satisfied to hear sloshing and the weight of a rather slim body slink under the water, Eden scurried to perform what felt like a covert operation.

  She had no sooner finished loading the washer and putting the vacuum away when Eleanor exited the bathroom, dripping a trail of water behind her. Her wet underwear and bra clung to her body. She hadn’t bothered to remove them. Eden brought her a towel and wrapped her in it.

  “You need to get dressed, Mom,” she said slowly, as if English was her second language. Eleanor began to dress herself, dry over wet.

  With Eden’s car out of service, they had a choice between a quicker, more expensive cab ride or a lengthier, but cheaper bus ride. Eden was yet unsure as to her mother’s financial state of affairs, and completely aware of her own, but she couldn’t imagine dragging her mother and daughter around town on a bus. She called for a taxi. Eleanor had never learned to drive and had sold off their vehicle after Eden’s father died.

  The office was on the second level of a five-story brass and glass building. Eden ushered her charges into the elevator and let Sophie push the button. They entered a waiting room that was brightened up by fresh mint green paint and several framed prints in a series. Sophie amused herself with the picture books. Eleanor circled the room muttering, “I had a bath. I had a bath.” Eden encouraged her to sit and be quiet but Eleanor would have nothing to do with it. Eden sat down in resignation and yawned. It had been a mere two days since she’d been in the company of her mother, Eden thought, but it felt more like years.

  “Eleanor Emerson,” the nurse called. Eden corralled her mother and daughter down the hall to a small examining room.

  “Have a seat,” she said with efficiency. “The doctor will be with you in a moment.” Eden spent the time trying to keep her mother and daughter from touching things they shouldn’t. Finally, the doctor entered the room studying forms on a clipboard. She looked up at Eden and smiled. “Hello. I’m Dr. Chan. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Eden Kelley. This is my mother Eleanor Emerson. Um, I just arrived yesterday and found my mother to be quite unwell. I’ve been away….” Eden hoped it sounded like she’d been somewhere very remote, somewhere that made it entirely understandable that she didn’t know about her mother’s situation.

  Dr. Chan referred to the pages on the clipboard. “Could you come with me into my office? I’ll have a nurse stay with your mother and little girl.” Eden followed her into a modest office furnished with a small, oak desk and a set of shelves that housed medical journals and a few personal items. No pictures of children or men. No time, Eden presumed, with a demanding career to attend to.

  “I have your mother’s medical records from her previous practitioner. Apparently your mother may have Alzheimer’s disease.”

  “Oh.” Of course it had crossed her mind, along with dementia, paranoia, and general overall loopiness. But hearing the word, Alzheimer, said out loud sent shivers down her spine. Eden didn’t know much about the disease, only that it was horrible.

  “You didn’t know?” Dr. Chan probed.

  Eden shook her head. “I suspected it might be something like that, you know, from the way she’s been acting. Still, it’s a shock to hear.”

  “Alzheimer’s disease can’t be diagnosed absolutely, at least not until after the patient has died. But behavioural patterns are a strong indicator. Can you tell me how your mother has been acting since you’ve arrived?”

  Eden covered the litany of hardships she had endured at the hands of her mother over the past twenty-four hours, frustration and anxiety lacing her recital. Dr. Chan nodded and jotted notes on her clipboard.

  “This just confirms the likelihood of the original diagnosis.”

  “What can be done?” Eden asked.

  “I’m afraid there’s not much you can do, except make things as easy as possible for the both of you. Patients with Alzheimer’s never improve. They only regress. By what you tell me, I can see she has already lost her short-term memory. Reality for her now is based on her past, and her behaviour will become increasingly more nonsensical.

  Eden suddenly felt faint. “Could I have a glass of water?”

  Dr. Chan filled a paper cup from the tap and handed it to her. “I know this is hard to take. There are organisations that provide support for caregivers of Alzheimer patients. I’ll give you the numbers you can call.”

  “Did my father know about this?”

  “Alzheimer’s disease can go undetected for a number of years. Patients begin with progressive memory loss that may at first be attributed to the ageing process. But then the memory loss becomes significant and unusual and is accompanied by uncharacteristic behaviour. Only those who are in an ongoing relationship with the patient are aware of the changes. It says here that her first prognosis was in ’87.”

  “What month?”

  “February.”

  “My father died in June of that year. Why didn’t he tell me about this?”

  “Some people find news like this embarrassing to discuss. It’s too personal. Others go into denial, insisting that their parent or spouse will get better, and that the diagnosis is wrong. Do you have any other medical concerns about your mother?”

  Eden shook her head.

  “If she worsens significantly or becomes ill, bring her back to see me.”

  “Thank you,” Eden said. They both stood and Dr. Chan accompanied her back to the examination room where Eden rejoined Sophie and Eleanor.

  So now she knew. At twenty-four Eden was suddenly thrust into the role of primary caregiver to her mother, an Alzheimer patient.

  8

  Eden

  Eleanor and Sophie were watching cartoons and Eden took the opportunity to smuggle the mouldy bread back into the black bag and whisk it outside to the garbage can. When she re-entered the house the doorbell was ringing.

  She stopped briefly to toss her hair and give a quick slap to her cheeks, not nearly the attention she needed, Eden thought, when she saw who was standing on the other side of the door.

  It was the man of her dreams (Literally, she’d dreamed about him last night.), in the flesh, Justin Kipper.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” Eden answered hollowly, lamenting the last image of herself she caught in the mirror. She was hot and flushed, hurried. He, on the other hand, looked freshly showered and confident. He shifted his weight to lean against the doorframe. She caught a knee-weakening waft of his aftershave.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no not at all.” It was a half-truth. Her charges were settled and in one spot, though the TV was too loud. And the house was a disaster; so she wasn’t about to invite him in. Her mother didn’t miss the doorbell, though, and shouted, “Is that, Joshua? Is he home?”

  “Just ignore her,” Eden stammered, mortified. She moved to step outside. Justin didn’t shift to get out of her way and she had to brush past his arm. She flushed at the contact. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” He stepped aside and shoved his fists into the pockets of his khaki pants. “I just thought I’d check if you meant it when you said you would like to go out sometime.”

  “Yes,” she said too quickly. “That would be great.”

  Sophie started calling for a glass of juice, shouting louder each time Eden failed to respond.

  “Just a minute,” she said. She sprinted back inside, half closing the door on him leaving him to wait on the step. She dodged to the kitchen in gold medal timing, handed Sophie her juice and returned to where Justin, thankfully, still waited.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?”he said. Eden sensed his growing discomfort, but at least her mother and daughter hadn’t scared him off.

  “Okay, but just down the drive. I can’t leave these two alone for long.” Now with the juice c
risis over, she had a moment of peace, a short break before the next storm wall hit. She could safely escape for a few minutes. At least she hoped so.

  “Summer’s the best time of year,” Justin said, making small talk.

  “My favourite,” Eden agreed. “That’s why I came back to Vancouver. I love it here.”

  “Logging doesn’t suit you?

  “No,” she said, wondering how he knew Cade was a logger.

  Justin’s eyes darted to her. “It’s obvious to me you don’t suit it. Too pretty for that.”

  Eden giggled. “Tell me about your life as a photographer.”

  “It’s great. It takes me all over the world. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to New York?”

  Eden shook her head no. She hadn’t been out of British Columbia, much less Canada.

  An ice cream truck moseyed along the road at the end of the drive with the music of “It’s a Small World,” blasting from the two horns on the roof. Justin asked Eden if she wanted an ice cream. She shrugged her shoulders. She was too nervous to think about food.

  “Sure you do,” he said. He waved the truck to stop and approached the vendor.

  “What kind do you want?” Justin asked. Again, Eden was incapable of making a simple decision.

  “Two Italian double-chocolate fudge,” he said to the vendor, then to Eden he added, “All women like chocolate.” She didn’t know if she should feel pleased that he seemed to intuitively know her so well, or bothered that he’d bunched her into a stereotype.

  They meandered back to the house under the watchful eyes of the towering birch trees that lined the drive. Justin shared more stories of his exploits. Eden listened, feeling both fascinated by his accounts and slightly pinched that she hadn’t much to contribute in the way of her own personal endeavours. Her secretarial job in a small northern town paled in comparison to his adventurous life as a photographer.

  When they reached the house Eden listened for any sounds of distress coming through the opened windows, but everything was quiet.