Buried Seeds

by Donna Meredith

  He slapped Whiting’s back lightly and kept an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s get you home, Sir, while we both can still walk.”

  They both laughed as if that were the funniest thing in the world.

  In the morning, Jack took all his winnings, all the cash he could scrabble together and took out a small loan. He bought stock in Pacific Electric. A few months later, he sold it and the windfall left him a wealthy man. He consulted with several men about various banks in the city and was leaning toward Wells Fargo, but as he was strolling past North Beach, a handsome fellow had a group gathered around him, telling anyone who’d listen about his bank, the Bank of Little Italy—and he would do business with anyone, not just the wealthy. Even better, his bank would pay interest. Jack liked the sound of that, and stashed his coins with A. P. Giannini.

  Immediately Jack set to work on plans for a substantial home to be built on Russian Hill. He would give Rosella and Ben the home they deserved. The home he deserved. When he finally held the architect’s finished blueprints in his hands, he imagined his mother visiting him, her awestruck face, a coal miner’s wife who’d never left her home county, never had two spare nickels to rub together. She couldn’t accuse him of being lazy or no-account once he and his family lived in the fine house of his dreams.

  Rosella

  San Francisco, 1920

  I opened a window that looked down onto the busy street, letting in not only air, but a cacophony of noise. Streetcars, horns, talk— everyone rushing about. I needed a breath of air after admitting to what I knew of Jack’s sordid past.

  “He bought a woman? That’s disgusting, Mama.” Solina’s nose wrinkled.

  “Yes, and she wasn’t much more than a child when he first met her, younger than you. Thirteen and an orphan.”

  “You sound as if you feel sorry for her, a filthy whore.”

  “What choice did that little girl have? There but for the grace of God go you and I, never forget that, Solina.” She had no idea how true my platitude was, how that poor girl’s fate could have been her own. Part of me would always despise Lourdes, but my better angel would always cry for her, a little girl whose life was far from easy. I wondered what had become of her and her child.

  “Still, Jack must have loved you both very much, Mama, to build you a fine house, even though he wasn’t perfect.”

  “Far from perfect.”

  “Did you forgive him?”

  “I tried.”

  My daughter’s sour expression spoke volumes but she didn’t let that stop her from voicing her opinions. “You can be rather hard on people.”

  Buying a teenage girl was a rather serious mistake. “What? If you mean because I stopped you from bobbing your hair—”

  “Forget it.”

  Gladly. Girls her age could be so difficult. Ro supposed she deserved it after the fits she’d given her father. “Tidy yourself up now, so we aren’t late for dinner at Nellie’s. After we eat, I’ll tell you what happened to Ben.”

  Nellie had been by my side through all of it. She would back up my story, and then Solina would understand. Let her write the whole truth in that diary of hers. The truth wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t what the newspaper said either.

  Forgive. Some things were unforgivable.

  1905

  Unaware of my presence—and what’s more, totally naked— Ben laughed hysterically and careened off the wool rug and onto the oak floor, his feet spanking the planks as he flung raisin after raisin into the air. They rained down behind him, creating hazards Nellie tried her best to dodge. She’d already crushed two with her black-buttoned boots.

  One skittered off the hem of her dark rose gown. “Stop that, you little scamp.” She bent over to grab Ben, but he twisted away, giggling breathlessly. It was good to see him healthy and energetic for a change.

  Head cocked to one side, I stood with arms akimbo. “So, this is what you mean by ‘He’s no trouble’?”

  Nellie straightened up. “My goodness, you gave me quite a start. I didn’t expect you back this early.”

  “Mrs. Underwood wanted to take Lydia and her cousin shopping this afternoon, so we cut our lesson short.”

  “Mama, mama, up.” Ben ran toward me, arms stretching upwards, a supplication for me to pick him up.

  “Not until you pick up those raisins. Go on, now. Be a good boy.”

  Ben looked sorrowful, as though his nearly two-year-old heart would break, but when he saw I was not going to acquiesce, he began to retrieve the raisins.

  I smiled, shaking my head. “And why, may I ask, was he eating raisins in his birthday suit?”

  Nellie adjusted her gown, which had gone somewhat off -kilter during the chase. “Our boy was a tad rambunctious this morning. I thought I could get him dressed more easily if he had something to nibble on, something to keep his hands occupied.”

  A tad rambunctious, indeed. But he felt poorly so often I welcomed any display of boyish energy.

  I had missed a couple of monthlies and hoped Ben might soon have a brother or sister. Ever since Jack had made some money in the market, he seemed obsessed with building a mansion.

  He tried to explain. “Don’t you see? We’ll have the stability of that investment, security for our family, something to pass down to Ben when he grows up.”

  I wanted a home, too, someday, but I didn’t feel the same urgency that propelled Jack into a flurry of meetings with builders and real estate men. If that’s where he really was. Some meetings lasted rather late into the night. During his absences, I sat in the parlor where Nellie plied her needle and Val read his medical books or played his cello. He was a doctor now, but continued to study and often used Nellie’s kitchen to distill unusual concoctions he believed might effect cures of one illness or another.

  Th is afternoon, I had an appointment to have Ben’s photograph taken by a photographer Val recommended. An indulgence, since I’d sketched my son over and over and photographed him incessantly with the new Brownie camera.

  Ben deposited the raisins in my outstretched hand. I discarded them and picked him up. “Time to get dressed, Mister Benjamin.”

  I pulled a white Buster Brown tunic over his head and tied a black silk scarf around the neck, smoothing down the wide collar. Short knickers, white socks, and black strap shoes finished his outfit.

  Nellie adjusted the bow. “Handsome as a little prince, he is.”

  Before we left, I grabbed Teddy’s bear. While not a favorite with Ben, it was something familiar he could hold if he suddenly took shy.

  We caught the next cable car as it passed by the house and headed for the business district. It was a mild March day warmed by a golden sun. I was glad to see the early morning fog had lift ed. As we got underway, Ben studied the passing cable cars, trains, carriages, and automobiles. Anything with wheels or engines fascinated him.

  The photographer’s studio was on the fourth floor of a brick building in the heart of the business district. A rather barren room, with two staging areas. First, Mr. Brown played a game of hide and seek with Ben. I couldn’t imagine how the man expected to get the boy to sit still after all that squealing—on both their parts.

  Ben began coughing, putting an end to the chase.

  “Is the boy ill?” Mr. Brown asked.

  “No, he’s perfectly fine,” I said.

  Nellie’s lips pressed together but she said nothing to contradict me.

  “Well, then,” Mr. Brown put his hands on his hips in a womanish way, “Ben, are you ready to play another game?”

  “Yeah.”

  The photographer’s face was gravely serious, examining Ben as if to determine his worthiness. “The hardest game of all?”

  Ben nodded, his face mirroring Mr. Brown’s gravity.

  “You have to sit very, very still on this bench and not move a muscle. The bear can sit beside you and it has to sit very still too. Neither of you can even blink or the biggest, baddest monster in the world will get you. Can you sit that still
?”

  Ben’s eyes widened and he nodded.

  A skeptic, I would believe it when I saw it.

  But Ben and the bear sat still. Neither blinked when the photographer flashed his blinding light. And no big monster got Ben or the bear.

  Not then.

  ~~~

  Five days after Ben sat for that photograph, he suffered a severe setback.

  I dipped another cloth in cool water, wrung it out, and held it against his head. The amber light cast by the gas lamp beside the child’s crib revealed his fevered skin and the sweat-soaked hair souring against his scalp. He twitched in his sleep.

  Nellie, a wrapper loosely tied on over her nightclothes, ducked her head in the door. “Any better?”

  I shook my head. “Thought you went to bed a long time ago.”

  “Can’t sleep for worrying about our boy.” She padded closer in her stocking feet, stopping just behind me, one hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

  I was grateful to have someone to share my worry, but it should have been Jack. He should have been home hours ago. Just because San Francisco was known as the City That Never Sleeps didn’t mean he had to work so hard personally to maintain its reputation. I’d told him this morning Ben was sick. He should be here.

  “The rash is worse,” I said.

  “Might be measles. Mother love is the best cure of all.”

  Nellie was usually right, but what if this once she was wrong? “I wish Jack was here.”

  Nellie patted my shoulder. “Any idea where he was off to this evening? I could send someone out to fetch him.”

  Who knew where Jack was? Delmonico’s. The Alcazar Th eater. Marchand’s. The Majestic. Before Ben’s birth I had frequently gone out with him, much less so now. This evening Jack had the nerve to ask if I wanted to accompany him. As if I could leave Ben when he was sick.

  A short while later, I heard the front door open and, with relief, thought surely it was Jack. It was not. I overheard Nellie rushing to greet Val, imploring him to attend to Ben, and then I heard the rapid fire tapping of his hard-soled shoes on the steps.

  I moved aside to let Val examine my fevered child. “Thank goodness you are here. I am beside myself with worry.”

  Val cautiously examined Ben’s blistered skin, frowning intently at the soles of my boy’s feet. The exam lasted less than a minute. When Val looked up, the alarm in his eyes terrified me.

  “I’m going to ask Dr. Kasbarian to take a look at him.”

  That Val would consult with the doctor who shared his practice told me he considered Ben’s situation grave. I knew Val and Dr. Kasbarian frequently disagreed over treatments, even though the older doctor had been one of Val’s early mentors and teachers.

  A short while later, I crept down the stairs to freshen up the bowl of water I was using to cool Ben. I was careful to step on the outside of the wooden stairs as the center tended to creak, and I didn’t want to wake Nellie if she’d finally fallen asleep.

  As I reached the landing, I heard hushed voices. I recognized Val’s voice.

  “Dr. Kasbarian should be here soon. I want to consult on proper dosages for a child so young. I’ve sent a messenger for Jack, Nellie. The boy’s case is serious. I saw Mr. Joyner earlier this evening at The Palace with that young woman he keeps company with. I told the messenger to check there first.”

  I anchored one palm against the flowered wallpaper, holding my breath. The bowl tipped and water sloshed onto my skirt.

  Nellie’s voice floated up the stairwell. “Thank you, Val. The child’s burning up.”

  “Yes, his father should be here, just in case.”

  In case—? Surely Val didn’t think—no, I would not allow myself to entertain such dreadful thoughts.

  The front door made a sucking sound as it opened and closed. The stairs creaked as Nellie’s heavy tread landed on them. A few more steps and she would reach the landing.

  “I’m just on my way down for a cup of tea,” I called softly, “and to fetch more cool water for Ben.”

  “Oh, you gave me a scare.”

  “Sorry. I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake anyone.”

  Nellie turned and descended the stairs again. “Let me make the tea. Can’t sleep anyway.”

  ~~~

  The first vague hint of dawn seeped through Ben’s bedroom window, not like the sunny mornings I knew in West Virginia, but the pearl gray of a fog-obscured sky. I stood on the opposite side of the room, watching my husband with Ben. Would I ever look at him again without hearing Val’s words: that young woman he keeps company with? I could never forgive Jack for consorting with his mistress while Ben suffered through convulsions. It should have been the boy’s father, not Nellie and Val, who brought me ice to pack around my son to lower the fever.

  Voices, muffled but carrying the distinct heat of anger, carried up the stairwell. I could make out bits and pieces. She needs . . . and a voice answering, You can’t . . . against the law.

  I was the “she” they were talking about, but what was against the law?

  Finally, Nellie showed Dr. Kasbarian upstairs. She waited in the hall while Kasbarian examined my child. In late middle age, the doctor sported a full white beard and a belly that would make him a fine Santa Claus. Was his age a good thing—would experience provide more insight into Ben’s illness than Val’s more recent training? It was impossible to know, and Ben’s life hung in the balance. Dear God, I prayed, have mercy.

  Dr. Kasbarian pulled the damp sheet from Ben and began the examination. I pressed in on the other side of Jack to watch, though the room was so tiny that four adults seemed to displace all the air inside. Jack put his arm around me. I shuddered and shift ed away from him. His arm had, no doubt, been around that young woman a short time ago. I banished Val’s words from my mind. Ben was all that mattered. The doctor handled the child’s foot with a damp cloth, frowning at the blisters on the soles. I could see from the look he exchanged with Val that they both felt the blisters were a dreadful sign. The doctor’s eyes cut to Jack with—what? Distaste? Anger? I didn’t know how to interpret his look.

  “Mrs. Joyner, I’d like to be alone with the boy and his father for a few minutes. Dr. Martin will stay.”

  “But—” I protested.

  “Please.” He took my elbow and practically pushed me through the door, then reverting to gentlemanly behavior, held it open with a slight bow. He pulled it shut behind them, excluding Nellie and me from their conversation.

  I waited, pacing nervously, certain now that Ben’s illness must be something terrible. Jack’s strangled cry pierced the wall and sliced my heart. Nellie gripped my shoulders.

  I threw open the door and clutched the frame for fear I would collapse. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

  The doctor glanced at me, and then turned back toward my husband even though his remarks seemed meant for me. “It’s serious. Possibly a tropical fever of some sort, a pox. Your husband tells me he travels near the border frequently. Perhaps he was exposed to an equatorial ague, which didn’t affect him, but he might have brought the illness back with him. The child could have grown ill because his defenses are still undeveloped.”

  My knees were crumpling beneath me. I gripped the doorframe tighter. How I disliked this man, this bearer of devastating news, his dismissal of me as though I was of no consequence.

  Nellie took charge. “What can you do?”

  “I recommend continuing the treatments begun by Dr. Martin, the Cascara amarga, Echinacea, iris, and phytolacca. I have found the Cascara works sometimes by itself, but because of the involvement of his glands and throat, I recommend the additional medicines as a precaution. For conditions of the skin, I use this ointment. Rub it all over the boy.” He handed a jar to Nellie. “Even with these treatments, you should know the situation is grave.”

  I bent at the waist and wailed. Jack nudged the doctor aside and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, darling.”

  Grief
squeezed everything else but Ben from the world.

  “The rest of the medicine,” Nellie said. “Let’s have it. How much and how often?” She took careful note of the doctor’s directions as he mixed solutions.

  He handed her a cobalt blue bottle. “In addition to the other treatments, half a dram of the potassium iodide to three ounces of water, a teaspoon three times a day for a week. As a precaution, I’m going to recommend that the parents take a double dose of the iodide for two weeks. These illnesses can sometimes travel through a family.”

  “What about me?” Nellie asked.

  The doctor looked sharply at her. “Have you handled the boy since the rash broke out?”

  “No. His mother has insisted on taking care of him herself.”

  The doctor handed Nellie two more vials and packed up his bag. “No need then. I have another patient to see this morning, but I’ll be back in a few hours to see how he’s doing.”

  He took me aside and gave me some tablets and a medicinal douche. I’d never heard of the latter but immediately suspected this had something to do with intimate relations with my husband. I blushed as the doctor explained how to use it, grateful no one else could overhear such personal instructions. I was seething—I knew there was more they weren’t telling me.

  I sat at Ben’s side, bathing his forehead with cool cloths, maintaining my vigil all day, backing away only when Val visited to examine Ben. I sat by the crib into the next night. Jack stayed with me, fetching ice and fresh water, bringing soup I couldn’t eat, preparing the medicinal doses. Sometime near dawn of the third day I nodded off. When I awoke, Ben’s hand was cold and Jack’s face heavy with the weight of the world’s sorrows.

  ~~~

  San Francisco, 1920

  For privacy, we were clustered in Nellie’s sitting room rather than the communal parlor in the boarding house. I couldn’t help noticing this sitting room was considerably larger than the one in her old home, the home that had burned down, but she had painted the walls the same shade of lemon, and suddenly I felt the present collapse and I was sitting once again in Ben’s nursery, watching over him as he slept, watching him as he woke and called, “Up, Mama, Up.” I closed my eyes and in my mind my arms reached for him. My fingers almost touched him . . . almost . . .