Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  “That answers that,” Leyton said, happy to know that Richard’s afternoon was booked solid.

  “Can I check on anything else?” Her voice sounded hopeful.

  “No, that’s all for now, but I hope we’ll speak again soon, Polli.” He sensed her disappointment and knew it was an opportune time to play with her infatuation. He always made sure to throw a little flirtation her way when he stopped by the house or called on the phone. Her stammers and giggles told him she was swept up in a crush, but he could actually stand for her to fall hard for him. He might need more of her help as time went on, and didn’t silly girls like Polli with an I do anything in the overrated name of love?

  “Polli, before I hang up, there’s one thing I’d like to ask.” He feigned hesitation. “I just fear that you’ll deem me improper for what I’m about to say.”

  “What?” she blurted, seeming more than eager to be treated inappropriately.

  His voice fell low and husky. “Are you, by chance, wearing that black sweater you had on when I dropped by last week?”

  The eagerness in her voice collapsed. “No, it’s in the wash.”

  “You should wear it more often, Polli.”

  “I should?”

  “It does something to your eyes,” he fed her. “Turns them an incredible color.”

  “It does?”

  “They take on this deep shade of blue like the evening twilight.”

  “I . . . well gosh, Mr. Drakeworth, I promise to wear it more often.”

  “You probably shouldn’t do that,” he teased. “It would be naughty of you to tempt a married man.”

  As Polli sighed, Leyton imagined her clasping the phone to her heart, her eyes closed as she swayed to Benny Goodman music playing in her head. He broke the line, expecting the sudden silence to add more impact and enticement to his suggestive comment.

  Within minutes, Leyton had all but forgotten the conversation as well as the girl. She was shelved away for now, in the specific place he’d keep her until he needed more information about Richard’s agenda, confidential files, and anything else he might need to help him carry out the new plan that was formulating in his head.

  So his father-in-law’s afternoon was accounted for, every minute packed. Leyton leaned back in his big leather chair, smugly contented, arms folded behind his head. That was exactly the news he wanted.

  His eyes scanned the spacious office and he recalled how long he had yearned to be sitting where he was right now. Success was a funny thing, though. Now that he had more control of the bank, he really didn’t want the bank with all its responsibilities. He only wanted its money, and that’s what he was working on getting. Little by little, one day at a time, and only when he was confident that Richard wouldn’t happen by his old haunt.

  Leyton had first assumed that he would gain access to Julianna’s trust fund over time, but now he knew it was coming much sooner and nicely packaged as a lump sum. This made him want more of everything to come sooner rather than later. Richard wasn’t going away anytime soon, and Leyton struggled with the idea of waiting years for complete control of his life. This realization spurred his ambition to consider a different path.

  What’s that about the cookie jar? he mused. Don’t get caught with your hand in it.

  He had no intentions of letting that happen. No more mistakes like the ones he had made with Tommy Lipton. Today he would dally just a bit, make a quick, intimidating appearance at the meeting of branch managers, and then it was off to Sweet Creek for tee time.

  Cookies and tee. He grinned, feeling pleased about the day he had planned.

  He had been teeing off a lot lately, but his people at the bank didn’t know it. Before leaving, he always announced to Bertha—loud enough for others to hear—that he was going to the hospital to see about Mari. Who would think to question him about that? Nobody would, but they would certainly be full of questions if they knew he didn’t go and never felt an inclination to.

  He wasn’t completely indifferent to little Mari’s situation, though. He actually had moments when he felt rather bad for the girl. After all, it wasn’t her fault she had a mother who didn’t better protect her. Surely a loving mother would take every precaution to shut out the crippling disease, but Julianna had clearly failed, just as his own mother would have. Had there been a polio epidemic during his childhood, he would have likely fallen ill while his oblivious mother poured herself a another strong one.

  In the next breath, Leyton’s pleasant disposition vanished. Thoughts of his inattentive mother always dimmed the light, but imagining similarities between her and his once-dependable Julianna snuffed it out completely. His golden day was now tarnished to black, and teed off had nothing to do with the game of golf.

  When the quarantine was lifted after twenty-one days, Julianna was deemed healthy and able to see Mari, but only through the glass window of the hospital’s isolation ward.

  Her heart broke at how tiny Mari looked in the crowded ward, its patients segregated by gender. Her crib was wedged in between a teenage girl confined to an iron lung and a young pregnant woman paralyzed from the waist down. The ward was filled to capacity, and word of an epidemic was causing panic.

  Public swimming pools, playgrounds, and movie theaters were temporarily closed, and the first day of school was postponed until the Board of Health said otherwise. At the start of the outbreak, terrified parents had tried to leave the city with their healthy children, but neighboring towns, hotels, and resorts didn’t want them. Police were stationed at every gateway, ordering people to go back.

  Dr. Ferlyn proved to be right, though, when he told Julianna that most polio victims recovered with little or no damage. As the weeks moved on and the air turned crisper, flush with the rich palette of autumn, Julianna saw the pediatrician’s words become fact. Patients were improving, and Mari was among them. The paralysis had not crept beyond the right leg, and even that was showing signs of recovery as Mari responded to more stimuli everyday. As were most polio patients, she was treated with massage therapy to stimulate her muscles and woolen hot packs to stop spasms.

  Julianna gave thanks quietly, though, and was careful to keep her joy under control. Many parents were sharing the window with her, coming from all walks of life, spanning the range from dirt poor to filthy rich. Not that it mattered right now. Not that it should ever matter, but for now they were all equal and knew the same fears.

  Day in, day out, Julianna saw the same faces, and not all turned from the window with hope or left the hospital confident that their loved one would awaken in the morning. Her throat tightened when she thought of the tragic ending this monster could bring, and sadly, there were those around her whose children would be tenderly lifted from an iron lung and lowered into a small casket. Other families would spend the next few years visiting their children in hospitals or caring for them at home, spoon-feeding a teenager or carrying a young adult to the bathroom because muscles had withered like flowers denied water.

  Where is the cure? she often wondered. There was no hope of a vaccine on the horizon. She wanted to crusade for it. To fight for it. To give researchers what they needed to put the killer disease to its own death.

  As it turned out, there was a way she could contribute, and the suggestion came straight from the president of the United States.

  “I want to have an FDR Birthday Ball,” Julianna told Virginia. “To raise money for the Georgia Warm Springs Foundation.”

  “A ball?” Virginia’s eyes sparkled in the sunlight falling through the window of the Plum Tree Tea Room. “Sounds divine,” she enthused. “Sounds like an excuse to buy a new gown.”

  Julianna cocked an eyebrow. “Since when did you need an excuse?” She toyed with the chicken salad and tomato slices on her plate. “Seriously, these balls raise money for the hospital FDR founded for polio patients in Warm Springs, Georgia. The waters there are said to be therapeutic for polio patients. I really want to do this, Virginia.”

  Dance
so that a Child May Walk. That was the slogan for thousands of fundraising parties held each year throughout the country, all on January 30th, the birthday of President Roosevelt. Running the country from a wheelchair, he was a polio survivor who always addressed the Birthday Balls via a nationwide radio hook-up.

  “Did you know that every postmaster in the country has been appointed Honorary Chairman of the Birthday Balls?” Julianna asked.

  Sipping her iced tea, Virginia shook her head.

  “I talked to ours, and he’s not been impressed by the people he rounded up to organize the balls in our community.”

  “I didn’t know this community even had them.”

  “Not many people do.”

  “Well, I’ll bet the epidemic of this past summer will light a fire to their lazy feathers,” Virginia said. “The 1936 ball should be a whooper-dooper.”

  “Oh, it will be.” Julianna smiled broadly. “The postmaster has put me in charge.”

  “No!” Virginia slammed her hand on their café table, causing their plates to rattle and drawing surprised looks from nearby diners. “That’s positively exciting, but do you realize what you’re taking on? Putting together an elaborate ball in three months?”

  “I know, I know, but it can be done,” Julianna assured her. “The postmaster said thirty percent of the proceeds go to the president’s new commission for polio research and prevention, but seventy percent stays in the community so we can fight our own polio problems. That being the case, you know the local charities will get involved. Plus, Mother will help me.”

  “And I’ll bet WYRC will promote it,” Virginia said. “Free publicity, sweets.”

  “I’ll take it.” Julianna laughed. “By the way, we’ve got to come up with some new story lines for Blair.”

  “Yes, soon,” Virginia said. “But we’ve got a few weeks. Aren’t you glad we work in advance, that you churned out all those scripts over the summer?”

  Julianna nodded. “There is no way I could have concentrated on writing these last couple of months. Not with Mari getting sick . . .” Her voice faded as she thought of that horrible August morning when Virginia had cried out from the top of the staircase. “It seems a lifetime ago,” she finally said quietly. “Can you believe how long it’s been since I held my baby? My arms ache from being empty.”

  “But not for long.” Virginia patted her hand. “Mari will be home soon.”

  Julianna beamed suddenly, like the sun springing from behind a cloud. “Next week. I’m going to redecorate the nursery this weekend and buy a new Raggedy Ann.”

  Virginia sat back in her chair and struck a Lucky. “This Birthday Ball,” she said through a billowing of smoke, “it’s all about Mari, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s all about Mari . . . and all the children she could have been.” Julianna’s voice was gentle, laced with emotion as she thought of the boy whose legs would refuse him the fun of splashing in a mud puddle, the girl who would never know a first dance.

  “I just hope Satan Drakeworth doesn’t throw a flaming pitchfork at your great plans,” Virginia said dryly.

  Julianna gave a flippant wave. “Leyton? Oh, this will make him look good. He’ll thrive, believe me.” She finished her water. “Father, too.”

  Virginia blew a smoke ring, undaunted by the disapproving scowl of an older woman seated a few tables over. “How is he these days?”

  “Oblivious that he’s a grandfather,” Julianna said bitterly.

  “He’ll be sorry someday.”

  “I doubt it.” Julianna placed her cloth napkin on her plate. “I need to get to Mari.”

  “And Nappy and I have to rehearse Blair.” Virginia jammed her cigarette in the crystal ashtray.

  They paid their check and walked out into the afternoon’s chilly air. The October sky looked marbled with its blend of swirling white clouds and brilliant blue, the effect intensifying the gold and russet leaves on the trees lining the sidewalk.

  Virginia’s yellow roadster was parked in front of the tearoom and almost seemed a natural part of the colorful day. Julianna’s Chrysler was a short walk down the street, but before starting toward it, she paused as Virginia got into her car. “I had fun,” she told her. “It’s nice to just sit and talk.”

  Virginia leaned across the passenger’s seat and rolled down the window. She looked up at Julianna and flashed her brilliant smile. “Call me the second you get home with Mari.”

  “I will,” Julianna promised. She glanced down at Virginia’s catchall of a passenger’s seat, seeing that atop its pile of scarves, hats, Blair scripts, loose cosmetics, and even a pair of shoes, there was a thick hardback book, its jacket brand new.

  Not As It Seems, Julianna read, by J.M. Tanner.

  “When did you advance from magazines to books?” she teased Virginia.

  “You haven’t heard about this book?”

  “Unless it has to do with polio, no,” Julianna said. For the past eight weeks, the only reading materials to cross her eyes were those related to the disease—its history, probable causes, attempts for a cure.

  “It’s all the talk and hot off the presses,” Virginia said. “Supposedly, the author just submitted the manuscript early this past summer, but the publisher was so excited that they pushed it through the steps. They wanted it on their book list in time for the holidays.”

  Julianna was impressed. “It must be good.”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “How far have you gotten?”

  “I’m up to the author’s dedication.”

  A laugh burst from Julianna. “The dedication? What is that, Virginia? Page one?” She laughed again. “You kill me.”

  “Read it.” Virginia nudged the book, causing it to slide from the pile of personal junk and fall into the floorboard.

  Julianna opened the door and picked up the book, then flipped to the dedication page.

  “Let’s see what has moved you so.”

  The amusement fell from her face as she read:

  To the woman who inspired me to finish this.

  She’ll know who she is.

  “Wonderful, huh?” Virginia said. “I told you.”

  Julianna spoke softly, touched by the author’s message. “Can you imagine being the woman he’s speaking of?”

  “Do you think I could inspire Nappy to write a book?” Virginia asked then shook her head. “No, all he cares about is the stupid radio.”

  “Uh oh.” Julianna frowned. How many times had she heard similar complaints from Virginia. “Is it time to toss him overboard?”

  “Not quite,” Virginia said, adding quickly, “but don’t worry. Our ending things wouldn’t impact Blair. As long as Nappy has a microphone, I don’t think he’d notice if we broke up. It would be nice and clean.”

  “Keep me up to date,” Julianna said as she returned the book to Virginia’s pile.

  “As always,” Virginia called as she started the car. “Bye now, sweets.”

  Julianna watched her whip out of the parking space and roar away, hair blowing wildly as the cool air rushed through the windows. She smiled, happy in the fact that there was simply no one else quite like her best friend.

  Julianna hurried to her car and made the familiar trip to the hospital, going straight to the isolation ward’s observation window. Mari was out of her crib and in the arms of a nurse, taking a bottle as they rocked. Seeing Julianna at the window, the nurse lifted Mari’s hand and waved it back and forth. A small act, but comforting to a mother whose arms had been empty far too long.

  Julianna smiled her gratitude then looked around the ward, its workings now so familiar to her. The cylinder iron lungs and mechanical rocking beds, nurses lugging wet and heavy woolen blankets, immobile patients staring blankly at the ceiling.

  “I’m glad Mari is doing well.”

  The voice came from behind, shocking Julianna from her thoughts. She knew the voice but had not expected to hear it. Spinning from the window, she stared into the eyes of h
er father.

  “Your mother says Mari will be going home soon.”

  “Next week,” Julianna said, knowing she sounded dazed. What was he doing here?

  Richard Sheffield, the grandfather of a child he had only seen a few times, and then just in passing when Julianna had stopped by Dreamland to visit her mother. Never had he shown a speck of interest in the daughter of Jace McAllister. Julianna wondered sometimes if he’d rather Mari didn’t exist.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” It was all her stunned mind could come up with.

  “I was happening by the hospital . . .” He lifted his hand and moved as though he wanted to lend a supportive touch to Julianna’s shoulder. The hand trembled slightly, and he hesitated in the awkwardness of this irregular visit. Slowly, and seemingly with regret, the hand retreated to his side.

  “I just wanted to stop in for a minute . . . express my well wishes.” He turned then and bolted from the room, leaving Julianna perplexed by this show of concern.

  Most daughters would have taken it for what it was—a visit from their father. For Julianna, it wasn’t such a simple matter. What had happened to provoke his concern, to render a crack in the wall he had placed between them?

  It was a puzzle, one that stuck with her during the rest of her visit with Mari and during her drive home. It followed her into the house, and all she could do was shake her head over how strange the day had turned out to be.

  And it only got stranger as she went through the mail on the hall table, left there by the new maid. The former maid had never returned after the polio quarantine, fearful that the disease was lurking in some remote corner of the house.

  Julianna sorted through the bills and magazines that had been stacked neatly atop a package in a brown wrapper that was addressed to her. Curious, she tore it open and let the paper fall away, leaving her holding a copy of the very book she had seen in Virginia’s car.