by Noelle Carle
During the second week of the sickness, Remick, who had been to the Eliot’s house to see Esther, summoned Alison. Cleo was sick, along with young Richard, but Esther and Reg were looking after them. “For two days she’s been clamoring to see you,” he told Alison. “She’s not going to get better.”
Alison drew in a deep breath and sighed. “There’s so much for me to do here. How can I just leave?”
“I’ll stay and help Father. You take the buggy and go.”
What a relief it was to leave the house with its odors and sounds. The air was chilly, the leaves were falling and the sun was shrouded in fog, but Alison felt invigorated and refreshed just to draw in clean air.
The village was quiet as she passed through it. The Cooper’s store was being taken care of by one of the Ouellette girls. The school looked abandoned, standing dark and silent. The boats in the harbor bobbed at their moorings, every one of them in shore for now. The bait shacks were empty. No one was about.
Moving up the hill to the Eliot’s she heard children laughing. The sound brought tears to her eyes. One of the twins, Isabella, had died, but Ivy had recovered enough to go home. Baby Caroline died while at the Whiting’s house. But the boys, William, Henry and Peter were outside, chasing each other and wrestling with exaggerated grunts and fake punches. When they saw Alison drive up, they ran over, sweaty and tousled, to take her reins and hitch the horse to the railing. They offered terse greetings. Will put his hands in his pockets and was suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about your brothers,” he mumbled.
Alison nodded at the blushing young boy and thanked him. “I’m sorry about your sisters,” she said.
His face suddenly looked as old as his father’s as he shrugged and looked away.
Alison hurried up the steps and into the kitchen where Esther met her. They embraced for a long time, tears coming easily with their mutual sympathy. As Esther pulled away she swiped the tears off her cheeks and said, “I don’t think Cleo will recover. She wants to see you so much. I don’t know why, but she’s been so insistent that you come.”
Alison moved towards the stairs before Esther added, “I should warn you. She’s had such a high fever that her we cut off most of her hair.” She gave a trembling little laugh that turned to a sob, “Just like she wanted!”
Alison climbed up the stairs, steeling herself for this sight. Cleo was the vain one, who used her egg money to buy a hand mirror. She was pretty and had a zest to match her looks. Alison tapped on the door and Cleo’s father opened it. His gaze at her was sorrowful and a bit ashamed. “So you’ve come,” he said. “I want to speak with you after you visit Cleo.”
He left them alone. Alison tied a handkerchief around her nose and mouth, and then drew near to the bed where Cleo lay. The air in the room was stale with the smell of disease. As she sat in the chair just vacated by Reg, Cleo turned her head. She looked hollowed out and blue, and was breathing with difficulty. Most pitiful was the sight of her nearly bald head, only a short thatch of blonde strands left.
“Alison!” Cleo moved her hand slightly, and Alison clasped it. “I had to tell you before it was too late.” She stopped to take a couple of breaths. Alison could feel her trembling. “I told my father. I’m sorry.”
For a short moment Alison was confused. “Told him what?”
“About your baby,” came the strangled whisper. “I heard you talking to the teacher one morning. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But I told him what really happened, that it wasn’t your fault. Yesterday, Alison. I told him yesterday.”
Alison stared at the dying girl. She shook her head for a moment, feeling cold inside. “How did you know?” she demanded.
Cleo’s head fell back. She closed her eyes. But her words came out slightly stronger. “He tried it with me…Aubrey Newell. The night of the clam bake. That‘s why I always locked the bedroom door, and why I hated him after that.”
“Oh!” Alison gasped. She knelt down on the floor and drew the girl into her arms. She cradled her and murmured, “I’m sorry, Cleo. I’m so sorry. Did you tell your father that too?”
Cleo bit out the word. “Yes. I couldn’t not tell him, could I?” Then she gasped for breath and Alison settled her back on her pillow.
Between breaths Cleo said, “Forgive me…please?”
Alison smiled, then realized Cleo couldn’t see it for the handkerchief. She stroked the pale cheek. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
For a moment Cleo opened her eyes and was still. Then she whispered one word. “Sam.”
Reg Eliot sat in a chair in the hallway with his head bowed down. He sat up slowly, and then stood. “I’m very sorry for what I did, Allie. I know it was unforgivable, especially since it obviously wasn’t true.”
Alison pulled the handkerchief down around her neck. She met his eyes, and then looked away. She was so glad to hear him call her Allie. “No, Mr. Eliot. I was pregnant when we last spoke. And it happened the way Cleo told you. I lost the baby, in the spring. The day we last spoke.” Alison found that her whole body was trembling now, remembering that terrible day.
Reg groaned and sat back down. He seemed as hollow as Cleo had looked and she wondered if he was sick too. “So much death,” he whispered. “So much sorrow for someone so young.” He shook his head. He swallowed and gazed at her.
Alison stood, meeting his eye. She watched him stand and go to the table in the hall, open a drawer and draw out a slim packet of letters. “I never should have kept them. I’ve probably caused him so much hurt too, with you not writing.”
“I did write. I kept writing. You couldn’t stop me doing that. I knew I was innocent, and…” she stopped as the truth of it rang in her head. She smiled suddenly. “I love Sam so much. I couldn’t stop.”
Reg handed her the letters. “Will you forgive me? Please? I was trying…” he stopped then. His eyes were bleak with so much pain from the losses he’d sustained that her heart swelled with pity. Impulsively she embraced him. She nodded, but couldn’t speak.
He returned her embrace and she felt how spare his flesh had become. He sat back down abruptly. “I think Cleo’s going to die too,” he said bleakly. Then, “Do you know where Aubrey Newell went?”
“No, sir. I don’t know where he went. He was going to join the military.”
Reg’s fists clenched and on his pale cheeks two spots of color rose.
Alison said lamely, “I’d best be getting home. I pray Cleo gets better.”
As soon as she got home she ran up to her room to give herself time with her letters. Ida still kept vigil in the kitchen, and Louise was washing bed linens.
Settling in her little chair by the window, Alison read each one. He described some battles and some of his friends. He spent one whole letter telling her all the things he missed from home, including her. Some were short and poignant – “My heart rushes toward you like the turning tide” – and others were cryptic and censored. She had read five of them when she came to a letter in which he described his nearly fatal experience. He spoke about them laboring through the mud in their attempt to move a gun, how the shell exploded so near them that the horse was killed and landed on him. He described his despair and his gradual realization that he would die. Then he told her how he prayed and God gave him the strength to move his hand out. “He wrote, “I stuck my arm out and yelled ‘God help me!’ and someone grabbed my hand. When they managed to budge that horse and pull me out, guess who had come looking for me? Aubrey Newell. He saved my life, Allie. He’d just finished thirty-six straight hours of work, but came to look for me when our chaplain told him I was missing. I’d still be there if it weren’t for Aubrey.”
Alison dropped the letter on the floor and stared out the window.
Chapter Nineteen
Patiently, Gallantly, with Dignity
Ruth Hudson awoke gasping with tears seeping from under her eyelids. She had another nightmare about Tom that seemed so real that it took several moments for the images to fade. He was l
ost and she felt such a sense of urgency that she needed to find him. She knew where he was but couldn’t get there fast enough. She was in the barn trying to hitch up the wagon, but her arms and legs were slow, clumsy, the halter and reins tangled, or the horse shifted or even disappeared. She was crying in the dream because no one would help her. In fact, Naomi and the boys either laughed at or ignored her. She heard a loud crash behind her and looked out the barn door to see the house collapsed and she realized that Tom was inside. She ran across the yard, her legs unable to move fast enough. She was aware that her sister and all the orphans were inside too, but she kept screaming for Tom.
Sitting up in her bed, Ruth moved carefully to avoid waking her sister who had been sleeping with her since Tommy left. She hated dreams like this that seemed so real you couldn’t shake them from your head, or the panic from your heart. But as her breathing slowed, she realized that the other side of the bed was empty. Naomi wasn’t even in the room.
Ruth stood and pulled on her robe without bothering to light a lamp. She slid her feet into her slippers and hurried into the hallway. A quick check of the boys’ rooms revealed that all was quiet there. Naomi wasn’t up tending anyone. She listened from the top of the stairs for any noises below. She moved swiftly down and into the kitchen. The room was quiet but for the ticking of the mantle clock and a steady snoring from beyond the kitchen where Riley Morse was staying. Could Naomi have…? No! Ruth dismissed that errant thought as she bit her lip. She pulled a barn coat over her nightclothes and lit a lamp to carry outside.
Heavy wet air with a chill in it told Ruth they’d had rain. Perhaps she’d heard a clap of thunder in her dream. She stepped carefully around the puddles in the yard, hoping to see another light in the barn. But it looked dark. Irritation fought with fear as she thought about her sister. Naomi suffered from occasional periods of deep melancholy and did things that had the potential to destroy her. She took to drink, a habit they tried so hard to hide from everyone, and also took to wandering. The most terrible time was three years earlier when she made it all the way to New York City and was entangled there for five months. She became involved with a man whose intentions were as far from honorable as anyone’s could be. Divine intervention brought her back to them, a broken and bitter woman who softened in her work with the orphans. At times she mocked both Ruth and Tom for their persistent vigilance over her moods. Then by times she was maudlin and sentimentally grateful in an overdramatic way. She lacked the ability to simply leave the past and start fresh. She claimed to love the man who had entrapped her and tried on two other occasions to go back to find him. She got scared both times before she ever got on the train. Her innate timidity was both her safety and her downfall.
Ruth knew before she opened the door that Naomi was gone. The wet ground showed the tracks of the horse and wagon clearly even in the dim light of the lamp. Sighing, Ruth turned back to the house. Her feet were cold and damp now despite her attempts to avoid the wet spots. Cold seeped into her heart as she thought about her sister taking away their wagon and their horse.
In the kitchen, Ruth set the lamp on the table while she stoked up the fire in the stove. She knew she ought to check the household money, but she wanted to get warmed up first. August was almost over and the nights were cool now. Soon the apples would be ready to harvest and they’d have a boost of income as their apples were distributed all over the valley. But for right now the budget was tight, both for the orphanage and for Ruth and Tom. Without his chair money, they were living on his army pay. It seemed such a small amount sometimes.
Ruth realized she’d been standing in front of the kitchen stove for several minutes. The fire was roaring now, so she added another stick and closed the damper. She gazed at the cupboard where the money tin was kept. She felt herself reach up, pull down the old tea tin and lift the lid with her eyes closed. The weight of it told her already it was empty. She found she was holding her breath and she barely opened her eyes to peek inside. It was empty, but for a torn piece of paper Ruth lifted out. “Sorry, Ru,” her sister had written.
Again tears sprang to Ruth’s eyes as she wondered when she’d ever stop feeling sorry for her sister and get mad.
Gradually the noise she’d been hearing since she came in the kitchen broke through the daze she was in and she wondered what it could be. It came from Riley’s room. She stood outside the door listening to what she had assumed was snoring but sounded more like painful breaths. She tapped on the door. “Mr. Moore? Are you unwell, Mr. Moore?”
A moan answered her. Ruth pushed open the door. She could always tell when one of the children was sick, for the very air of the room would smell different. She knew as she entered his room that Riley Moore was very sick.
Moving to his bedside, Ruth set the lamp down and looked at him. Riley Moore was a member of their church family and a community member whom everyone knew. He was described as an imbecile, but Ruth preferred to think of him as a big boy. He lived with his elderly parents and had occasionally helped at the orphanage. After Tom left for France, Riley came to stay with Ruth and Naomi and help permanently. He knew an enormous amount about animals and growing things. He had no math skills, nor could he read. He was close to sixty years old, a compact but strong man who had a gentle way with the orphan boys. His hair stood out from his head in grey crinkles, he shaved clean every day and had all his teeth. His eyes were a green brown color that seemed to change with the light. Ruth had grown so fond of him since he came to help that the sight of him now brought the tears back in full force. His skin was pasty white, but his forehead and his cheeks, when she felt them, were burning. He seemed to be shaking and his breaths as he sucked them in sounded as if they were drawn across the blade of a saw.
Ruth spoke his name again and shook his arm a little. His eyes dragged open slowly at her voice.
“I’m feeling poorly, Miz Hudson” he mumbled. “Musta caught something going to town yesterday.” His eyelids drifted shut.
“Mr. Moore? Riley? You might breathe easier if you sit up a little.” Ruth knelt down to help raise him up, but he was dead weight in her arms. Then she saw the trickle of blood oozing down from his ear.
She pulled back and swallowed hard as she gazed at it. I must get the doctor, she thought; then one thought after another slammed into her heart as she realized she couldn’t leave the children, she had no wagon, and her sister wasn’t around to go either. Settling the covers back over Riley, she grimly acknowledged that now she was mad.
The town was nearly six miles away. The oxen could pull the sledge, but that would be slower almost than walking. Stephen was the oldest boy with them, but he was not the fastest or the most reliable. She would wake up Jacob and have him run into town for the doctor.
As she laid her hand on the banister, Ruth stopped for a moment to pray for both Riley and her wayward sister, and added a little plea for herself, that she’d get through this day that was starting out so badly.
Moving quickly up the stairs, she began to hear noises that made her heart start to pound. Someone was coughing and someone else was crying, a whiny, weak cry that Ruth recognized as Paulo, an eight year old Italian boy. Paulo was small for his age and seemed not to have grown in the two years he’d been with them. Of the eleven boys they cared for now, Paulo concerned her most. She rushed through the door of one of the bedrooms with her lamp held aloft. Some of the boys still slept, but Jacob was sitting up coughing and in the bed beside him Paulo lay crying.
“Jacob, what’s wrong?” she whispered to the thin fourteen year old.
“Can’t stop coughing,” he gasped. “Can’t get any breath.”
Ruth laid her hand on his forehead and found him hot but dry to the touch. She felt Paulo’s head and found he too was feverish.
“Paulo, sweetie, what is it?” she murmured to the boy as she stroked his forehead. He cried harder as he moved restlessly.
“My head won’t stop hurting. Someone keeps hitting. Make them stop, Mrs. Hudson. Ma
ke it stop!” His rising cry woke some of the other boys who stirred and began whispering.
Ruth went to each of the six beds that held the older boys. Besides Jacob and Paulo, two others were feverish or seemed to feel unwell. Ruth hurried out to the hallway where there was a closet full of linens. She grabbed several wash cloths and took them back to the room. She wet them and laid the cool cloths on each of the sick boys, murmuring quietly to each one, promising to bring them some cool water and especially urging Paulo to lay back and try to stop crying. The twins, Michael and Mitchell each accepted the cloth on their forehead without a word, but Ruth could read in their heavy eyes that neither felt well at all.
Not given to panic, Ruth stood and looked about her. These were the four boys who had gone yesterday with Riley into town. He told her that he’d gotten them all a treat of ice cream while they were there. It must have been bad ice cream, she thought, that they’d all be sick from it. But she was dismayed when she checked on the little boys’ room to realize that the baby Johnnie and little Marcus were both fevered and sick also.
Sixteen year old Stephen was up now and pulling on a robe over his nightshirt. Ruth shook her head at him. “Get dressed right now, Stevie. You’re going to have to run into Vay and find Dr. Cobb. The horse and buggy aren’t here. Miss Naomi has them.”
He looked at her blankly. “Well, maybe she’s gone to get the doctor. We still got the oxen, don’t we?”
Ruth sighed. Stephen tended toward laziness although he was obedient and good-hearted. “No, she went somewhere else. The oxen are too slow, so you’ll have to go as fast as ever you can. You understand? I need the doctor quickly.”
“You mean run?” Stephen’s voice squeaked as he questioned her.
“Yes, run, Stephen.” She left the room, pulling a sleepy redheaded boy behind her. “You think you can cook the oatmeal for me, Donnie, while I tend to the babies?”
