by Janet Dawson
“Fair enough.” Lucy drove through Oakland’s Chinatown and made a right turn into the Tube that went under the estuary. Once on the Alameda side, she headed down Webster Street. When they arrived at home, Drew’s Mercury was nowhere to be seen. “Baby brother sure has been moody these past few days. Do you know why?”
Jill sighed. “I do, but he has to be the one to tell all.” And I hope he does it soon, she thought.
“Secrets between siblings?” Lucy laughed as she opened the driver’s-side door and got out, tossing the keys in her hand. “Well, if you’re sworn to secrecy, so be it.”
They went inside the house and Lucy dropped the keys into the bowl on the hall table that held the downstairs telephone. Jill set down her suitcase and carried the bag containing the presents from the Bianchis back to the kitchen, where a pan of freshly baked gingerbread was cooling on a trivet near the store. Her mother was sprinkling spices on a rectangular Pyrex dish filled with chicken pieces.
“I’m home,” Jill said, kissing her mother on the cheek. “And I had a good time.”
“Good. Dinner will be about half an hour after I put this chicken into the oven. We’ll have that, a big salad and French bread. I made gingerbread and I’m going to whip up a lemon sauce for it.”
“I have some wine to go with it.” Jill pulled a bottle from the bag. “Look, homemade Chianti, bottled by Mike’s uncle. Also a big bottle of the olive oil that they sell and olives, of course. And some pastries that Mike’s aunt baked. They’re wonderful.”
“Can’t wait to try them. Your father will be home from work soon, but I don’t know where your brother is. I’m looking forward to hearing all about your trip to Oroville.”
Jill headed back to the hallway, where she looked through the envelopes and magazines on the wooden tray, but didn’t see any letters addressed to her. She carried her suitcase upstairs. Sophie was curled up in the middle of the bed. The cat yawned and stretched, meowing as she demanded to be petted. Jill complied. “Home again, kitty, and I’ll be here a few days before I leave again.” She kicked off her shoes and changed clothes, putting on a pair of capri pants, a cotton blouse and her ballet flats. Then she unpacked her bag.
She walked to the head of the stairs and heard her mother and Lucy downstairs, talking. This seemed as good a time as any to call Tidsy, since the upstairs telephone, located in the hallway outside her parents’ bedroom, was more private. She picked up the telephone receiver. When she heard the tone, she dialed Tidsy’s number in San Francisco.
“I just got back from Oroville this afternoon,” Jill said.
“Just so you know,” Tidsy told her, “I have had no further manifestations from the spirit world. Although what happened Sunday night was quite an experience. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like that happen, and believe me, I’ve had some doozies.”
“Margaret was on the train, both ways.”
“Did she see the ghost?” Tidsy asked.
“The light, the voices, and the taps. But she heard more than just four short taps.” Jill told her of the sequence of taps that Margaret had heard.
“H, A, R. I brushed up on my Morse Code after I talked with you,” Tidsy added. “So the letters could be spelling someone’s name?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe we can talk about it at the party on Saturday.”
“Too many people,” Tidsy said. “I have things to tell you, too. Let’s get together before then, just you, Margaret and me. How about tomorrow? Or Friday?”
“I’m available both days,” Jill said. “Although we do have company coming for dinner tomorrow evening and I’ll need to help Mom get ready. I’ll call Margaret and see whether she can meet with us either day.”
When she disconnected the call, Jill wondered if it was too close to dinner time to call Margaret. Then she hear the front door open. Her father must be home from work. She went downstairs. Amos McLeod greeted his older daughter with a kiss on the cheek and glanced through the mail on the hall table, taking out several envelopes.
Lora McLeod appeared in the kitchen doorway, a dish towel in her hands. “Dinner will be ready soon. Drew’s not home, though. He didn’t say anything about being late.”
“I’m sure he’ll be along.” As soon as Mrs. McLeod had gone back to the kitchen, Dr. McLeod beckoned to Jill. “Would you come into the study? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“Sure.” Jill followed her father to his study at the back of the house. Dr. McLeod shut the door, then sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. Jill took the second chair.
“I did as you asked,” Dr. McLeod said. “I spoke with my friend the pathologist who works for the Alameda County Coroner’s Office. He let me have a look at Mr. Randall’s autopsy results.”
“What did you find out?”
“Mr. Randall did have a damaged heart valve, consistent with his having had rheumatic fever. Problems with heart valves that are associated with rheumatic fever include mitral stenosis, aortic stenosis, and aortic insufficiency, or any combination of those three. People with these heart valve problems often have a heart rhythm we call atrial fibrillation. That’s an irregular heartbeat. I’ve had patients who’ve described it as feeling like a butterfly in the chest. Digoxin is a medicine containing digitalis and it’s used to control the heartbeat. Mr. Randall died of valvular heart disease and digitalis toxicity, according to the autopsy results. Since the prescription bottle was found near the body, the medical examiner did check the Digoxin levels. They were elevated.”
“An overdose,” Jill said.
Her father nodded. “Mr. Randall took too many pills. Perhaps he mixed up his medicines, had an episode of atrial fibrillation and took too much, either all at once, or several incidents over several days. It happens frequently. I had a patient last year who overdosed on Digoxin, though fortunately he didn’t die. The excess of digitalis causes the heart rate to slow, leading to shock and death. It can also cause a dangerously rapid heartbeat, which also leads to death. There was something else. The medical examiner noticed some abrasions around Mr. Randall’s mouth, and it appears at some point he bit his tongue. I’m not sure how that happened or what it means.”
Jill sighed. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate your taking the time to do this.” Now she would have even more to tell Tidsy when they met.
There was a knock on the door, then Mrs. McLeod opened it. “Hey, you two. Dinner’s ready. Drew still isn’t home. We’ll just start without him.”
They sat down at the table, which held a big wooden salad bowl filled with greens from the garden, the baked chicken, and a tray bearing a loaf of bread. Dr. McLeod opened the Chianti and poured wine for all of them.
They had just started eating when Drew arrived. “Sorry I’m late,” he called from the hallway. He detoured into the downstairs bathroom for a quick hand wash, then joined them at the table. “This looks great, Mom,” he said, piling salad and chicken on his plate. “Hey, Sis, how was your trip to Oroville?”
Jill cut into a piece of chicken and launched into the tale of her travels. It was a typical evening meal for the McLeods. At least it was until after they’d eaten pieces of gingerbread topped with lemon sauce.
Then Drew took a deep breath and said, “Mom, Dad, there’s something I want to tell you. I’m going to drop out of school.”
Chapter Fifteen
The discussion between Drew and his parents, heated at times, went on long after Jill and Lucy cleared the dinner dishes from the dining room table and escaped to the kitchen, where Jill covered the remaining chicken with aluminum foil and found a space for it in the refrigerator. She scraped the rest of the salad into a container and set the salad bowl aside.
The McLeods had a Frigidaire Dishmobile, a dishwasher on wheels with a butcher block top. It had a hose and fitting that connected the kitchen sink faucet. Jill wheeled the dishwasher from its usual corner to the sink where Lucy was rinsing off the dishes.
“What do you think?” Lu
cy asked, a plate in her hands. “Our brother the bluesman?”
Jill opened the front of the dishwasher and pulled out the bottom rack. She began loading plates. “I think he should do what he wants.”
“I thought he was already doing that, on weeknights and weekends.” Lucy handed over more plates. “But to leave school and do it full time?”
“Have you ever heard him play?” Jill asked.
“Sure, here at home.”
“I mean, at a club.” Jill loaded forks and spoons into the dishwasher. “I have, last weekend when Mike and I went to West Oakland. Drew is really a talented musician. I can’t blame him for wanting to see if he can make a go of it.”
Lucy shook her head. “But dropping out of college to go roaming around from town to town, playing music? Can he make a living doing that? Playing music for the rest of his life?”
“I don’t think it’s about making a living.” Jill reached for a handful of table knives. “He’s barely nineteen. I don’t know that he’s thinking of what to do for the rest of his life. Just what he wants to do for now. We don’t know what the future holds, for any of us.”
She thought of her other self, the one who had been engaged to marry Steve. That Jill thought she had all her plans in place. She was going to walk down the aisle with Steve, then teach school until she and Steve had babies. Then everything had changed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. That Jill was very different from the one who sported a uniform and rode the trains from Oakland to Chicago and back again. And this Jill, the one standing here in the kitchen with wet hands, knew that life must be lived now, not some time in the future.
They heard raised voices coming from the living room and looked at each other, then continued their kitchen cleanup in silence.
After the fallout of Drew’s bombshell on Wednesday evening, Jill never did get around to calling Margaret. She did so Thursday morning after breakfast, while her mother and sister were still in the kitchen.
“I have several commitments today,” Margaret said. “How about Friday for lunch? I’m going shopping that morning. I want to pick out a new dress for the party. How about one o’clock? At Thelma’s Tea Room on Telegraph Avenue.”
“That’s fine. I’ll call Tidsy and set it up.” Jill disconnected the call and dialed Tidsy’s phone number. “Lunch with Margaret tomorrow in Oakland. Margaret suggested one o’clock, but I think we should meet earlier. I have a lot to tell you, and I don’t want to say it on the phone.”
“All right,” Tidsy said. “I’ll meet you at twelve-thirty. That should give us time to talk. Where are we having lunch?”
“At Thelma’s Tea Room. It’s on Telegraph Avenue near Sixteenth Street.”
“Tea?” Tidsy laughed. “I’m a scotch-on-the-rocks girl. I usually prefer something stronger than a pot of Darjeeling.”
“I know that,” Jill said. “But Margaret picked the place. She has some shopping to do downtown, and this is nearby.”
“Oh, well,” Tidsy said. “I can sling tea with the best of them. See you tomorrow.”
Jill hung up the phone as her mother came out of the kitchen, carrying a basket that held cleaning rags and a bottle of furniture polish. She set this in the hallway near the front door and opened the hall closet, taking out the Hoover upright vacuum cleaner. She wheeled it into the living room. Jill picked up the basket and followed. The McLeods’ home was usually quite presentable, but company was expected for dinner tonight. Besides, Jill suspected, her mother was taking refuge in housework after Drew’s announcement and the subsequent discussion.
“What can I do to help?” Jill asked.
Mrs. McLeod unwound the vacuum cleaner cord and plugged it into the nearest electrical outlet. “I’ll do the living room. I need something to occupy my mind. Would you and Lucy polish the good silver?”
“Sure.” Jill headed for the kitchen and corralled her sister. “Mom wants us to polish the silver.”
“My goodness, we’re putting on the ritz.” Lucy finished her coffee and set the cup in the sink. “It’s just cousin Doug and his new wife.”
“You know how Mom is with company. It’s the first time she’s met Pamela. I know she wants to make a good impression.”
They went to the dining room and Jill opened the lower door on the sideboard, removing the wooden case that held the silverware. In Lora McLeod’s house, stainless steel cutlery would suffice for everyday, but company meant the good silver and the special china. Lucy pulled out the polish and cloths and the sisters set to work, accompanied by the sound of the vacuum cleaner running in the living room.
“Was it love at first sight?” Lucy asked. “Doug and Pamela, I mean.”
“Yes, I believe it was.” Jill smiled at the memory. “I knew it the minute I introduced them.”
Doug Cleary was the son of Lora McLeod’s brother Sean, a retired Denver detective. He was nearly eight years older than Jill, who was the eldest of the three McLeod children. For years Doug had been something of a black sheep, at odds with his father, but the two were on better terms now. Growing up in Colorado, Doug was an avid skier, a member of the Rocky Mountain Branch of the National Ski Patrol. During World War II, he joined the Tenth Mountain Division and trained in winter survival and skiing at Camp Hale, then he’d gone to northern Italy, where he had been among the thousands of ski troopers who had been wounded in action.
Doug was also a skilled gambler, good enough to make a living at poker. Last April, he had been traveling to California on the California Zephyr. So had Pamela Larch, a Southern belle from Jackson, Mississippi, who had been on the lam from an engagement to a man she really didn’t want to marry. When Jill introduced them in the Vista-Dome, sparks flew. Pamela had been heading for San Francisco, but she never got there. Instead, she left the train with Doug in Portola. Doug was meeting a friend there, to discuss plans to open a ski resort high in the Sierra Nevada. A short time later, Jill got a telegram announcing their marriage. They were living in South Lake Tahoe and this trip was a delayed honeymoon for the couple.
“I knew Ethan was the one for me,” Lucy said now, polishing a serving spoon. “I went sailing with some friends and there he was. To think, I almost didn’t go.”
Jill smiled. “I wasn’t sure about Steve. I met him at a mixer on campus. He asked me out twice before I finally said yes. Now, pass me that silver polish.”
———
Pamela Cleary had a twinkle in her blue eyes as she declared, “Well, I finally made it to San Francisco. And I love it. What a wonderful city. I’m sure I’ll enjoy finding out all about the history here in the Bay Area. We have lots of history in Mississippi, but it’s different.”
They were sitting on the patio in back of the McLeod house, drinks in hand, talking before dinner. Pamela’s long blond hair was caught back in a loose ponytail. She wore a sundress made of crisp cotton, a blue background printed with tiny pink and yellow flowers. Her arms below the short puffy sleeves were tanned, indicating she’d spent some time in the sun recently. A white cardigan sweater was draped over her shoulders, just in case the tiny wisps of fog coming in from the bay lowered the temperature.
Doug, tall and blond, wore a short-sleeved checked shirt on this summer evening, showing the scar on his right arm. It ran all the way from his shoulder to his wrist, and it was the result of encounters with shrapnel and barbed wire during the war. “We’re staying at the Chancellor Hotel near Union Square. We have quite an itinerary planned for the next few days. San Francisco, then down the coast to Monterey. Until today, Pamela had never seen the Pacific Ocean.”
“It’s different from the Gulf of Mexico,” Pamela added. “The gulf can be rough during hurricane season, but the ocean, it’s fierce, I would say.”
“We have a saying here in California,” Jill said. “Don’t turn your back on the ocean. There are big waves called sneaker waves, that come up unexpectedly and sweep people off the shore, out to sea.”
“And rip currents,” Dr. McLeod said.
“Even in shallow water, they can drag you out to sea.”
“My goodness, how inhospitable.” Pamela laughed. “I’ll be afraid to stick my toe in the water. Doug is preparing me for winter up in the mountains. He tells me a train was stuck in a blizzard up there last year.”
Jill nodded. “That was terrible. The train was the City of San Francisco, a Southern Pacific streamliner. That train travels on a route that’s higher than the Feather River route and sometimes they have problems with the weather. The train was stuck for six days but they got the passengers out after three days.”
The story had been all over the newspapers and newsreels in January 1952. A huge storm with fierce winds had piled drifts high. On January 13, the City of San Francisco rammed into a snow slide and was stranded at Yuba Pass, about twenty miles west of Donner Pass. Snow-clearing equipment and snow-blowing rotary plows were sent to reach the train, but they froze on the tracks near Emigrant Gap. With 196 passengers and twenty crew members aboard, a huge rescue effort began, with hundreds of railroad workers as well as volunteers. The Sixth Army sent vehicles that could travel over the snow, as well as soldiers trained in winter survival, while military doctors and nurses were dispatched to likely rescue locations. Rescuers worked to clear nearby Highway 40, in order to reach the train. Ski patrols ferried food and other supplies to those onboard. After thirty hours, the streamliner ran out of diesel fuel, plunging the train into cold darkness. Finally the rescuers were able to evacuate all those on board, moving them on foot along the tracks to vehicles that then carried them to safety. Those who were weak or sick after the ordeal had been carried out on toboggans. No one aboard the train died, but two rescuers did. It took three more days to extricate the train.
“It was scary,” Jill said now, remembering the photographs she’d seen of the stranded train and the rescue. “I’ve never been in weather that severe, in the Sierra or the Rockies.”
