Valley So Low

by Patrice Wayne

  Once it did, Harry took her in his arms and kissed her for a very long time. He held her so tight she struggled to breathe but Maude didn’t complain. In respect to Uncle Fred’s household, he didn’t grope and they didn’t make love. When they went to bed, Maude retreated to the small back bedroom and Harry, as Granny directed earlier, bunked in one of the other rooms. Before they parted, he kissed her one more time.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll be married,” he said. “And we’ll go home soon as we can, fetch George, and get back to living. Good night, honey.”

  Maude clung to him a few more seconds. “’Night, Harry,” she told him. “I love you.”

  “Aw, Maudie, I love you too.”

  With her heart bursting with joy and her mind overflowing with plans, Maude slept little. In the early morning hours, she realized she had nothing decent to wear to her wedding. The one dress she’d worn when she left home was one of her better housedresses but it wasn’t fancy, and the one she’d borrowed from Granny looked too homely for a wedding. Poor Harry lacked anything but his uncle’s castoffs. We’ll be a ragged pair but a happy one.

  She remained in bed until she caught the aroma of coffee and frying bacon wafting upstairs. Maude dressed and headed downstairs after peeking into the other room to see if Harry still slept. The empty bed, already made, sent her downstairs in a hurry, eager to see her groom. She found him at the kitchen table, coffee in hand and a smile for her.

  “Good morning, Maudie,” Harry said. “Sun’s shining for your weddin’ day. I’ve always heard happy’s the bride the sun shines on.”

  “I am.” Maude stepped behind him to pour a cup of coffee as Granny entered the kitchen. “And you shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding, neither,” the older woman fussed although she wore a smile.

  “We’re finished with bad luck,” Harry said. He stretched out his hand to Maude and she took it but invisible cold feet scampered down her back. His cheerful words seemed to tempt fate and she didn’t like that much. “Sit down and have some biscuits and gravy, honey.”

  Her stomach twinged at the idea. “Oh, I can’t. I’m too nervous to eat,” Maude told him with a little laugh.

  Granny added her suggestion. “Then go upstairs and get ready.”

  Maude glanced down at her dress, plain but clean. None of the patches were evident. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t have much else to wear but this.”

  “Come with me. I’ve got something fine for you to wear. It’s borrowed and blue.”

  Curious, Maude caught Harry’s eye but he shrugged. Whatever surprise Granny might have, he must be as unaware as she. Dutiful as a daughter, she followed the old woman back upstairs. Maude hesitated in the doorway of the bedroom. Back on the farm, she’d been in and out of the room Granny and Granpa shared often, but here in Fred’s home, shyness seized her. “Don’t dawdle,” Granny said. Maude advanced a few steps. The familiar furniture stood in place, the cedar chest Granpa built for his bride rested beneath a widow the same way it had at the farm. “Take off your old dress and put this on.”

  She pointed to a lovely gown spread across the bed. Fashioned from fine linen, the dress boasted hand-tatted lace. Maude touched the light blue fabric. “It’s pretty,” she said. It was also a few years out of date, no more than six or eight, she guessed. “Where’d it come from?”

  “It’s Rose Mae’s weddin’ dress. I borrowed it from her husband. She always thought a lot of Harry and called him her favorite cousin. I thought she’d be pleased to think his bride wore her gown.”

  “I’d be proud to,” Maude said. She wouldn’t go to her wedding, such as it was, in rags after all. Half an hour later, she gazed at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Granny did her hair in braids, then pinned them around her head like a crown. The old-fashioned style suited both Maude and the dress. “You’ve got something old, borrowed, and blue all in one,” Granny remarked. “And I bought you this string of fake pearls at the notions store so you’d have new.”

  She fastened the necklace around Maude’s neck and produced an elaborate hat. It matched the dress in style and age so Maude realized it must also have been Rose Mae’s. At Granny’s direction, Maude wrapped a soft white shawl around her shoulders. “Without it, you’d freeze but you look pretty anyway. Wait till Harry sees you.”

  When Maude came down the stairs with slow tread, Harry waited at the bottom. The look in his eyes seared deep into her soul, admiration and love combined with wanton desire. She couldn’t look away from his eyes and didn’t realize until she reached the third step from the bottom he’d changed clothes too. He wore a black suit jacket over a pair of denim pants and a white dress shirt. Comb tracks remained where he’d tried to comb order into his hair. The black eye he’d suffered before Christmas had gone and the last of the bruises were so faint she had to squint to see them. “You’re a beauty,” he said when she reached him. “Let’s go get hitched, honey.”

  Although cold, the January day sparkled with bright sunshine as they walked the few blocks down to the courthouse. Few people were out and about, kept home by the flu or fear of it. Maude noted more than a few black wreaths hung on the front doors of homes where someone died and realized many must be from the flu. A number of stores were closed up tight. Harry coughed, hard, several times and she wondered if he’d caught cold while in jail. Or maybe he’d taken a chill while sitting in the tub so long while she combed the lice from his hair. Either way, she decided she’d dose him with some honey when they got home.

  The tall brick edifice loomed up like a storybook castle in the center of the downtown square. Granny and Uncle Fred accompanied them to serve as witnesses. As they crossed the broad marble floors, the heels on the button-up shoes Maude borrowed from Granny tapped out a fast rhythm. They bought the marriage license and asked Judge Reiner to do the honors. His next court session didn’t begin for another hour so he agreed and they entered his chambers, a dark room smelling of stale cigar smoke and good bourbon. Maude recalled her first wedding, a more elaborate church affair, but she had no regrets. She loved Harry and she didn’t need a preacher, a cake, or wedding guests to mark their union.

  They spoke their vows facing one another, the traditional words resonating with fullness and meaning for Maude. Harry’s deeper voice rumbled as he said his promises, and the sound of it touched her like music. He looks a little pale, she thought, as she focused on his face. She’d wager he had one of his headaches too. The fine line between his eyes cut deeper the way it did when his head hurt and because she knew him so well, Maude noticed the slight way he clenched his jaw. Although they’d made no plans after getting married, she’d hoped they might find a few dollars to rent a room at one of the local hotels. She’d never stayed in one before and thought she’d like the novelty. If it wasn’t for the snow, they’d head home to the farm but enough still covered the ground to be treacherous, all the more dangerous out in the country. The idea of making love under Fred’s roof turned her bashful but watching Harry, reminding herself the ordeal he’d suffered in jail, Maude thought she could wait for loving and let her husband get the rest he needed.

  “By the authority given me by the State of Missouri, I pronounce you man and wife,” Judge Reiner announced. “Sir, you may kiss your bride.” Harry took Maude’s hands in his, warmer than usual against her cold fingers, and touched his mouth to her lips. She already wore his ring and hadn’t seen any need to remove it just so he could put it back. Afterward, the judge and the two witnesses signed the marriage certificate. Judge Reiner slapped Harry on the back and said, “I’m glad to officiate at your wedding, young man, instead of sending you to the state penitentiary. Congratulations to you both.”

  Several other courthouse officials and employees stuck their heads into the office to offer congratulations. Maude basked in the warm glow of love and delighted in her new status. There’d be talk, she imagined, a recent widow remarrying so soon and to her brother-in-law, but she didn’t care. She accepted Granny’s hug
and the kind words of several people but when she noticed Harry seemed distracted, some of her joy faded. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, pressed close against him so no one else would hear. “I’ve got an awful headache,” he told her with a weak attempt at a smile. “I’m just tired, I guess. I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Don’t be,” she told him. “We’ll go back to Fred’s and you can get some rest.”

  They made their excuses and moved out of the chambers. Granny and Fred followed, pausing to visit with people they knew. On the way down the stairs toward the exit, Harry came to an abrupt stop. Then he sat down hard on the steps and put his head down. Alarmed, Maude almost missed her footing and grabbed his shoulder to catch hold before she tumbled. “Harry?” she asked.

  “I had a dizzy turn,” he said, head still down. “My head’s still spinnin’.”

  “Are you all right?” He lifted his face toward her and frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I feel kinda bad.”

  Maude touched his forehead with the back of her hand and winced. His skin burned beneath her touch. “You’re running a fever,” she said. Granny reached her side. “Is he sick?”

  Maude nodded. “Well, let’s get him home and to bed.” The older woman’s voice carried none of the panic or fear Maude possessed. “C’mon, Harry, let’s go.”

  Although Harry managed to gain his feet and walk out of the courthouse on his own, Maude worried. The closer they came to Fred’s house, the slower Harry moved, and by the time they entered, Harry drooped like a wilting leaf. He managed the stairs but with effort, and Maude directed him toward the little room where she slept. With her help, Harry removed his borrowed garments and in his red flannel underwear made no protest when she tucked him into the narrow bed. She remembered she wore Rose Mae’s dress and changed back into her faded housedress before she sat on the edge of the bed. Harry, who’d looked no more than pale earlier, appeared very ill now. His eyes were shut tight but when she said his name, he opened them. “Maudie, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get sick on our wedding day.”

  She took his hand in hers. “Don’t be, Harry,” she said. “It’s not your fault. I promised to love you in sickness and in health. I just didn’t know how soon we’d face the sickness part, that’s all. Can you tell me what hurts?”

  “My head’s fit to bust open, it hurts so bad,” he told her as he shut his eyes. “I’m hurting all over too, aches and pains everywhere. I’m worn out something awful and so cold.”

  Maude tucked the covers tighter around him. Granny entered with a basin of water with some clean rags. Before she spoke, Harry spoke. “Granny?”

  “It’s me, son,” she said. She handed Maude the basin, rags, and aspirin, then produced a tin cup from the deep pocket of her apron.

  “Do you think I’ve got the Spanish flu?” Harry asked the question Maude had avoided.

  In a voice level as a well-made floor, Granny said, “I’d say you do, Harry.”

  His voice came out of his mouth as thin as paper. “Do you think I’ll die, Granny?”

  The old woman never hesitated. Her tone didn’t waver or betray any emotion. “Of course not, Harry. Why, you’re a strong young man and I’ve no doubt you’ll beat it. You just need to get your rest and let us take care of you for a spell.”

  Harry’s face relaxed and a half-smile flitted over his lips like will-o’-the-wisp. He appeared to accept his grandmother’s words but Maude didn’t. She watched a single tear slide from Granny’s left eye down her cheek and saw the worry lines cut deeper into the woman’s lined face. If Granny could display such bravery, Maude figured she could summon a little courage and offer some comfort. He can’t die. I love him too much to let go. He has to live.

  Maude dipped a rag into the basin and wrung out the excess water. She placed it across Harry’s forehead. His skin burned against her fingers but she steeled herself not to wince or pull away. “How’s that?”

  “Feels good,” he said. “It helps a little.”

  “Aspirin should help more,” Granny said. “See if you can take some and I’ll be back later to check on you. Maude, bring me Rose Mae’s dress and I’ll hang it up.”

  Reluctant to leave Harry, Maude obeyed. “I won’t be gone a minute,” she told Harry.

  In the hallway she handed the gown to Granny. Their eyes met. “Do you really think he’ll be fine?”

  “I hope so,” Granny said. Her voice wavered now. “But he’s bad sick and there’s no telling, Maude. We’ll do what we can and hope he can fight off the sickness. See if you can get him to take the aspirin and drink some water. It might help. I know you’re not supposed to feed a fever but if he wants to try a little broth, I’m making some in the kitchen.”

  “Are you sure it’s the flu? It came over him so fast.”

  Granny nodded. “Oh, I am. It did Gertie the same and her girls too. I felt fine when I got up and was in bed by noon but I wasn’t as sick as Harry looks. Seems this flu hits the young folks hardest and that’s a pity.”

  The words sobered Maude, and when she returned, Harry moved with restless agitation. He calmed when she sat down beside him. The compress she’d placed on his head wasn’t cool at all and she changed it for another. Then she wet a second rag and used it to bathe his face and neck. Harry’s fever heat sapped the water from the cloth in a hurry. “Do you think you can sit up to take some aspirin?” she asked. “Yeah, I think so,” Harry rasped. He tried but Maude supported him with her left arm or he probably wouldn’t have managed. She gave him three aspirins and poured him a cup of water to wash the tablets down. Maude worried how weak he seemed to be so soon, although he remained alert.

  As the day progressed, his fever increased. By late afternoon, the searing heat of his skin alarmed Maude and she continued to apply water, although she didn’t see if it helped at all. As his fever hit new heights, Harry became increasingly lethargic and began to mumble unintelligible things. The cough Maude noticed on the way to their wedding racked him, sometimes so hard his body shook. His condition alarmed Granny so much she sent for a doctor and when he arrived, Dr. Owens examined the patient. He took Harry’s temperature and frowned when he read the thermometer. “He’s running a fever of 104 degrees,” he said. “It’s dangerously high. There’s no doubt he’s got the Spanish influenza, and there’s not much you can do but keep him comfortable. Some call it the ‘three day fever’. After the third day, he should either start to improve or worsen. If the aspirin you said you’re giving doesn’t seem to help, don’t use it. If you know any old time remedies, try them. They won’t hurt and they might help. Be aware the flu may bring on a virulent case of pneumonia. I’ve seen it too often and if it develops, his chances drop lower.”

  Throat tight, Maude forced words out. “What are his chances now, Doctor?”

  Doctor Owens pressed his lips together. “Mrs. Whitney, it’s hard to say. This disease has such a high mortality rate, but I’d say at the moment it’s about sixty-forty.”

  “Sixty percent chance he’ll survive?”

  His answer dashed her hopes. “No, ma’am, forty that he might. And if pneumonia sets in, the chance he’ll beat it is about ten percent. I’m sorry to tell you but I can’t sugarcoat. I’ve seen too many families with unreal hopes. Harry might live but I can’t promise it and I won’t.”

  All the fear Maude’d known since Harry fell ill gathered into a ball and lodged somewhere between her chest and stomach. A rock couldn’t be any heavier and for a moment she could scarcely breathe. In her experience, death came swift and silent, like a thief sneaking into the house unexpected. Although she’d known people who lingered on a sickbed, Maude had never sat with them or tended their needs. Word of Jamie’s death came out of the blue and so had her mother’s. Granpa Whitney was alive one day, dead the next. In her mind the burden of responsibility to save Harry rested on her shoulders. Combined with the worry gnawing at her heart and soul for days and the labor involved in nursing him, the load threatened to overw
helm Maude.

  She glanced at Granny who stood in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed over her chest and face grim. Maude sought hope, some word of reassurance all would be well, but instead she saw tears track down the old woman’s cheeks. Granny seldom cried and that she did now spoke volumes. If she lacked hope, Maude didn’t know how long she could hold onto hers. “He’ll live,” Maude said, aloud. “Harry won’t die.”

  A harsh sob ripped from Granny’s mouth as she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. Shocked, Maude stared. The woman hadn’t wept when her husband of more than forty years died so her outcry stunned Maude. “Bless you, honey,” she said. “Maybe you’ve got enough stubborn will to make it so. I hope so. Come on, Doctor Owens, I’ll show you out.”

  Alone, Maude settled back into the chair beside the bed. Her husband hadn’t spoken in hours but he’d shifted position often and sometimes moaned as if he hurt. “Oh, Harry,” she said, her voice thick with despair. She balled one hand into a fist and held it in front of her lips so she wouldn’t shriek to vent her anguish. Dusk ate up the remaining light outside and the room filled with shadows. How can he be so sick he’s in danger of dying? This morning he seemed fine at breakfast. Her mind raced in twelve directions and searched for answers, struggled to find solutions.

  Her stomach ached, dull and constant, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten anything. Although not hungry, Maude realized she should have a bite or she might succumb to some sickness. Maybe Granny could bring her something. She wouldn’t leave Harry. It might be silly and even superstitious, but she didn’t think anything bad would happen to him as long as she remained at his side. Maude placed her hand on his forehead and thought it might be a smidge cooler. Maybe with night approaching his fever would come down, she thought, and made a fresh compress. When she put it in place, he opened his eyes, bright with fever.