Carrying Albert Home

by Homer Hickam

  “You have an interesting take on marriage,” the doctor replied, but then opened his black bag and removed a saw and a little sack of plaster. “I shall give him a new cast, as you wish.”

  “And I will help you,” Elsie said. “You see, I have training as a nurse.”

  Afterward, as the doctor put his saw and the empty plaster sack back into his black bag, he said, “Pray that he is stronger than I perceive. I will not return unless sent for.”

  “I doubt that will be necessary,” Elsie replied.

  The doctor’s face was pinched. “Then good day to you, Madam.”

  Over the next few days, Elsie plied Homer with the occasional aspirin and kept him cool by wiping him down with ice water every hour. After the fish ice ran out, she drove the Buick five miles up the road to the icehouse and bought more on Captain Oscar’s credit.

  Captain Oscar was impressed by her constant attention. “You must love your husband very much,” he said while holding a kerosene lantern aloft in the middle of the night to assist her in her ministrations.

  “I could have saved my brother Victor if I’d brought ice to him,” Elsie said while wiping Homer down. “A fever will not catch me unawares again. If this man was the worst villain in the world, Captain, I would do no less.”

  It took two days but finally came a break in Homer’s fever. The swelling in his arm and wrist and hand receded and the angry red streaks dissolved. While Elsie was tending to him, he blinked once, then stared at her. “Hello, Elsie,” he said. “I’m pretty cold.”

  “Hello, Homer,” Elsie replied. “You had a fever but I’ve saved you with the application of ice.” She dipped a towel in the pan of ice water and raised it up so Homer could see.

  “You still couldn’t have saved Victor,” he said.

  “So you say,” she answered and turned his face to the window and its view of the sandy road lined by pin oaks. “Look how lovely this place is. I brought you here.”

  “Where are we?”

  “In South Carolina along the coast.”

  “We are off course.”

  “I am now plotting our course. You have abrogated that responsibility.”

  Homer raised his ruined hand and wiggled his fingers. “It works,” he said, “but not well.”

  “It will get better,” Elsie said, “and that’s all you have to do for now, let yourself get better. In the meantime, I will provide.”

  He gazed at her. “You seem angry.”

  “I am angry. I will forever be angry. You said I did not deserve the money I earned. You did not back me up when I needed you.”

  Homer frowned as if trying to recall, then said, “But that’s the way I felt.”

  Elsie dumped the pan of ice water on Homer’s lap. “And this is how I feel.”

  Elsie left Homer with his mouth open to object or ask more questions—she didn’t care which—and got busy cleaning the boardinghouse from top to bottom. When she arrived with her mop, bucket, and broom at the second upstairs room on the right, she was surprised to find within it a young woman seated in a wingback chair, facing the window that overlooked the sound, which Elsie had learned the low-country folk called a swash.

  “Oh, sorry,” Elsie said. “I didn’t know we had a guest.”

  The woman, who wore a high-necked white blouse, a brocaded skirt, and laced black boots, turned her face from the swash. “I am not a guest. I am Grace, Captain Oscar’s daughter. And you are Elsie, our new maid, cook, and manager.”

  Elsie had forgotten that Captain Oscar had mentioned his sick daughter. She had presumed the daughter was off in a sanitarium. “If you would like me to come back later . . .” she began.

  “No, please come in,” Grace said, a faint smile forming on her sunken-cheeked face as she nodded toward the implements that Elsie was holding. “That mop, bucket, and broom were mine before I caught the consumption.”

  “The consumption?” Elsie asked.

  “Tuberculosis. I laughingly refer to it as my Victorian novel’s disease.”

  “You laugh about it? Isn’t it bad?”

  Grace shrugged, her thin shoulders barely moving beneath her blouse. “I laugh to keep from crying. It is bad enough to send me to this room, here to contemplate all that might have been. I’m certain my future would have included a handsome husband, intelligent and lively children, and a long, romantic life beside the sea.”

  “I am sure all those things will yet be yours,” Elsie said.

  The woman coughed a phlegmy cough and shook her head. “My fate was preordained. I can see that now. And perhaps,” she said after a moment’s reflection, “it was so that your fate might be fulfilled. Who are we mere mortals to know the plans of the angels who control our lives?”

  “No one,” Elsie answered. “My husband is also very ill.”

  “Yes, I know,” Grace answered. “I slipped downstairs to observe him. He appears strong and I believe he will return to health.” She turned businesslike. “So tell me, Elsie, what experience do you bring me and my father?”

  “None whatsoever,” Elsie confessed. “But I am eager to learn.”

  Grace smiled. “Why do you think he hired you?”

  “He said I was the only one who applied for the job.”

  “There is truth to that observation,” Grave observed. “But I suppose it was also because a turn of your pretty ankle caught his ancient but still appreciative eye. But never mind. I think he made a good choice. The first thing you should do is delve into the top right drawer of the rolltop desk in the kitchen. There you will find the daily log I kept during the years of my managership. It will tell you how I did things. Read it and then come back to me and I shall answer any and all questions.”

  “I’m sure I will have many,” Elsie said. “I hope I won’t be a bother.”

  “Never. In fact, I take great comfort in you. You are the answer to my father’s prayers—and mine.”

  “You will find no more ardent worker than me,” Elsie swore.

  “You must make certain every occupied room has fresh sheets each day.”

  “I have already found your scrub board, washtub, and clothesline and I will make it just so.”

  “Fresh flowers in every room every day.”

  “I shall range far and wide to find them.”

  “The kitchen is in dire need of a good scrub and our icebox is empty.”

  “I shall scrub the kitchen and, given money, will fill the icebox with ice and fresh vegetables and as good and clean meat as I can find.”

  “Splendid. Along the road, you will find farmers offering their produce and meats, both fresh and salted. My brother Captain Bob will provide plenty of fish. Can you cook?”

  “Unfortunately, I am only fair in that department.”

  “There are recipes aplenty in the cupboard over the kitchen sink. Use them diligently.”

  “They shall be my guide.”

  “There is something else,” Grace said. “There is a child. Her name is Rose. She lives a mile northward on the sound. I would have you hire her. Tell her you will pay her in food. She is very smart and knows where everything in the inlet is and who you might need to see for this and that.”

  “As soon as possible, I will go to her,” Elsie vowed.

  After a few more days of cleaning, and once everything had been put away in its proper place, Elsie felt she could take the time to find and hire the girl named Rose. She walked along the muddy edges of the sound northward until she came upon a weathered, windblown old house made of driftwood and scrap. It was there she found a girl, not more than ten years old, sitting on the porch as if waiting for her to arrive.

  “Good day, missus,” the girl said, swinging her bare legs. “My name is Rose.”

  “I know what your name is, Rose. Would you like to work for me at Captain Oscar’s? I would pay you in food.”

  Rose cocked her head. “I heard you have an alligator. Is it true?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Might I
touch him?”

  “Of course. You may even feed him if you like.”

  “Then I will work for you.” Rose gathered up her things, her very few things, and walked with Elsie to Captain Oscar’s. Without being told, she made her bed in an outbuilding that had once been a shed for goats. Then, also without being told, she washed all the windows, and scrubbed all the copper pots and pans in the kitchen until they gleamed like new pennies. After that, she went to Elsie, who was on her hands and knees scrubbing the parlor floor. “Might I touch Albert now?”

  Elsie put her fist in her back and stretched, then wordlessly took the girl to see Albert, who was in his washtub on the screened back porch. The rooster was asleep on his head but woke up and jumped off when Elsie and Rose walked in.

  Albert grinned and grunted a hello as Elsie knelt beside him and petted his head. “Albert, I would like you to meet someone. Her name is Rose. She is a hardworking child. You should allow her to touch you.”

  At Elsie’s nod, Rose went down on her knees and, with a trembling hand, reached out to touch the alligator’s knobby head. At her touch, Albert’s eyes rolled back. “I think he likes me,” Rose breathed.

  “Albert is a very sensible boy,” Elsie said, “who knows a friend when he meets one.”

  “I will be your friend, Albert,” Rose said. “Forever and ever.”

  “That is a long time,” Elsie mused.

  “Time is the best gift, missus,” Rose replied. “Time is really the only gift we receive from God that we can give to others.”

  The mention of God took Elsie aback. She had been raised attending the company churches of the coal camps where her father had worked, but the thought that God gave out gifts like time was a novel one, never covered by dogma or the preachers she had listened to. “I was told you were very smart, Rose, and it seems you are.”

  “Thank you, Miss Elsie. It pleases me that you might think so.”

  Rose, besides being a hard worker, proved to be good company. She taught Elsie things such as how to catch blue crabs with nothing more than an old fish head, a string, and a long-handled net, and then how to cook and clean them. She was also fearless, and in that respect, reminded Elsie of herself.

  Rose had been working for Elsie less than a week when a huge dog presented itself in the yard. When Elsie came out on the porch and saw that it had foam dripping from its mouth and its eyes were busy with hate, she called for the girl. “It is surely rabid,” Elsie said when Rose arrived. “It will not leave before it has bitten someone.”

  Rose studied the creature. “I know that dog,” she said. “It’s old Sandy, belongs to the Buford family. They never fed it much so it had to go into the woods to feed itself. Must’ve been bit by a sick raccoon.”

  “If we move, it will attack us,” Elsie said. “I shouldn’t have called you and put you in the same pickle.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, you should have!” Rose declared. “But now we must work together. Do you see that spade leaning against the fence? I used it to work in the garden this morning. I must get to it and then I can do what must be done. You must distract old Sandy without getting bit.”

  Elsie considered where she was in relation to the dog. “I will do my best,” she said. “But do you mean to hit the dog with the spade?”

  “This isn’t Sandy,” Rose explained. “Sandy has already died.”

  “I know you’re right but it’s still hard.”

  “Hard or not, it must be done.”

  Elsie exhaled. “All right, I accept your premise. Ready?”

  Rose nodded and Elsie stamped on the porch. “Sandy! Sandy! Here, here! Come get me!”

  The dog shook its head, wisps of foamy drool slung from its mouth, and then came running toward Elsie in a strange, half-crippled gait. It stumbled at the steps but kept coming after regaining its footing. Elsie jumped up on the porch banister and balanced there as Rose leapt over the banister, plucked up the shovel, sprinted back to the porch, and brained the dog with one sure swing, the blade of the shovel making a sickening sound as it crushed the dog’s skull.

  Rose tossed the shovel away and knelt beside the dog. “Poor Sandy,” she said, her hand hovering over its bloody head.

  “Don’t touch it,” Elsie said as she stepped down from her perch. “It can still give you its disease even when dead.”

  “It led a poor life,” Rose said. “But it lived until it died and, until this moment, never tried to hurt a soul.” Rose looked up at the sky. “Bless this old dog, Lord, and let him finally get a good meal in heaven today.”

  “Do you think dogs go to heaven?” Elsie asked.

  “If they don’t,” Rose said, “God is a poor excuse for a god.”

  Elsie looked at Rose. “You saved me.”

  “One might say I saved us,” Rose responded. “Or, more appropriately, we saved each other. It’s what friends do.”

  Elsie reached across the dead dog and touched Rose’s cheek and her hair. “Thank you,” she said.

  Rose also took Elsie to the seashore, where she’d never been before. They walked around the sound, then through a shallow inlet to reach the Atlantic Coast. In every direction, the sea appeared endless. Elsie was enthralled by the wind, the waves, the thunderous noise, and the way the sand felt between her toes. “They call this the Grand Strand,” Rose reported.

  “It is aptly named,” Elsie replied. “I have never imagined a beach so grand.”

  Rose pointed at the flat round shells that littered the beach. “Those are sand dollars, missus,” she said. She picked one up and broke it open to reveal what looked like tiny sculptured birds of fine white china.

  “Why are they in there where no one can see them?” Elsie asked.

  “Nobody knows,” Rose said, “except as a hidden glory of God. It makes you wonder what other glories He keeps hidden.”

  “You have spoken of God before,” Elsie said. “What do you know about Him?”

  “I have never set foot in a church,” Rose answered, “but somebody must have made all this.”

  “A sensible answer,” Elsie said, her admiration for the child growing.

  Rose pointed out the gray driftwood, twisted like gargoyles and shoved back along the dunes. “The sailors say those are formed by mermaids. Maybe they sculpt the sand dollars, too.”

  Elsie picked up what she thought was a black arrowhead. Her brothers were always bringing arrowheads home from their hikes into the surrounding mountains but this one was a bit strange. “What is this, Rose?” she asked.

  “Why, it’s a shark’s tooth, missus,” Rose replied.

  Elsie studied the tooth, noting now the fine serrations along the edge like those on a butcher’s bone knife. She worried it between her fingers, its smooth surface soothing to the touch. “But why is it black?” she asked.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Rose answered. “I’ve seen the fishing boats bring in a shark now and again and their teeth are always white as ivory.”

  “Maybe black teeth are very old,” Elsie proposed. “Like dinosaurs.”

  “Things usually bust up in the sea when they’re old,” Rose scoffed, then bent down and picked up something blue and sparkling in the surf. “Like this piece of beach glass.”

  Elsie took the glass. It was smooth and rounded on its edges and glittered in the sun like a jewel. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “It’s just a piece from an old bottle,” Rose replied, “tumbled in the sand by the sea for a long time. You can keep it.”

  Elsie put the beach glass and the tooth in her pocket. “Thank you, Rose.”

  Rose shrugged, then pointed at a large shell just at the ocean’s edge. “Look there. It is a queen conch, a true beauty!”

  Elsie followed Rose to the big shell, all turned into itself, pink and white and smooth. Elsie picked it up and held it to her ear. “I thought I could hear the ocean in this kind of shell but I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s because its animal still lives in it,” Rose
said, taking the shell and showing Elsie the hard gray foot of the sea creature within. “It will soon die here in the air and the sun.”

  “Then let’s return it to the sea,” Elsie proposed. She took the shell and waded into the water, past the first row of waves, where she dropped the shell. “There,” she said, walking out.

  Rose said, “Oh, missus, you are very bold. There are sharks in the surf this time of the year.”

  “Fortune favors the bold, Rose,” Elsie replied, although she was shaken by the belated warning. There was so much about the sea she didn’t know, including its dangers. Still, for a reason she couldn’t discern, Elsie wanted to tempt the sea just to see what it would do.

  Rose led Elsie farther down the beach. With every step there seemed to be another wonder: an egg of a manta ray looking for all the world like a lady’s purse, a shell that was the shape and color of an exotic butterfly wing, little birds that scampered along the surf but never got their feet wet—“Sandpipers, missus!” Rose explained.

  Elsie also gasped at the strange creatures just beneath the shallows with bulbous heads that flew more than swam—“Horseshoe crabs!” came Rose’s explanation—and the air itself, which was clean and fresh yet smelled of a vast underwater kingdom.

  “I have never been happier,” Elsie said, as much to herself as to Rose. It was the sea, the glorious sea. Here beside it, near it, in it was where she felt she belonged. “I should like to stay here forever and ever and learn everything there is to learn.”

  “There is no reason why you can’t,” Rose replied.

  “Oh, there is,” Elsie said. “It seems anytime I am close to happiness, it is snatched away from me. How about you, Rose? Are you happy?”

  “Moderately so, although I am an orphan,” Rose replied. “Happiness will not be fully mine until I find a family.”

  They walked on for a while, Elsie mulling over Rose’s declaration. Finally, she said, “If I knew my own fate, I would be pleased to make you part of my family. Although I have a husband now, I’m not certain I will always have one. You see . . .”

  “Oh, missus, don’t say it!” Rose cried. “He is getting better. I go into his room to look at him now and again and I’m certain his health is returning.”