by Bess McBride
“Jack, are you ill?” Dr. Mallory asked, rushing forward to take Jack’s arm.
Annie instinctively moved with him and grabbed the man’s other arm to steady him. He looked weak and in a great deal of pain.
“I’m so sick, Doc. I’m so sick. What’s wrong with me?”
“We’ll find out,” Dr. Mallory said. He looked at Annie over Jack’s bent head. “Jack works at Swenson’s Dairy Farm. Annie, I think you should leave now. Touch nothing except the door with your coat sleeve, and wash your hands as soon as you reach home.”
Annie dropped Jack’s arm.
“Go now,” Dr. Mallory said to her again. She turned for the door.
“My head is splitting,” Jack said. “I’ve got a rash on my stomach. I’m so sick.”
“Yes, I know. I know, Jack. Come into my office. I think you must go to the hospital.”
Annie paused at the door and watched Dr. Mallory help Jack into his examining room.
Swenson’s Dairy Farm! Did Jack have typhoid fever? She wished she had taken the time to study the symptoms. She had missed the opportunity to ask Dr. Mallory what the symptoms were. Belinda had died from a bowel hemorrhage, uncontrolled intestinal bleeding.
The doctor had told her to touch nothing except the door and to wash her hands. He seemed to be in no doubt that Jack was contagious with something. She maneuvered the front door with her coat sleeves, then descended the stairs. Hurrying back to the Sellers’ house, she let her hands dangle loose at her sides, refusing to touch one to the other. She was indeed going to wash her hands as soon as she reached the Sellers’ house.
On arrival at the rowhouse, Annie used her jacket sleeve again to push on the door latch. She had no idea what time it was, but she could hear the sound of the children upstairs.
“Hello!” she called out, checking the clock on the mantel: 4:45. Belinda had said dinner would be at five thirty, when Monroe got home.
“Hello, Annie!” a male voice called out. To her surprise, Monroe came out of the kitchen followed by Belinda, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Annie! You’re back,” she called out. “I’m so glad. Now we can sit down to dinner at five tonight. Monroe came home a bit early. The children are washing up upstairs.”
“I need to wash my hands too!” Annie burst out in a screech. “If the kids are in the bathroom, where can I wash my hands?”
Belinda blinked at the patent desperation in Annie’s voice.
“Well, of course you will want to wash your hands. You can use the kitchen sink.”
“No!” Annie gasped. “No, not the kitchen sink! No food.”
“Annie!” Belinda protested. “Whatever is the matter? As you know, we only have one bathroom. You can go upstairs and wait until the children are finished, if you like.”
“I think something is troubling Annie, my dear,” Monroe said in a remarkably soothing voice. His thick mustache widened as he smiled kindly. “Perhaps your recent visit to the library? Why don’t you take your things off and sit down for a moment?”
He reached for her hand, as if to guide her to the sofa.
“Stop! Don’t touch me!” Annie barked, jumping back and pulling her arms tight toward her body.
Monroe dropped his hand and froze, blue eyes wide.
“Annie, whatever has gotten into you?” Belinda demanded. She moved to stand next to her husband, as if in support.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry,” Annie cried out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just need to wash my hands. I thought you were going to touch me,” she said to Monroe. “You can’t touch me!”
“I wouldn’t presume,” Monroe said quietly. “I apologize.”
The children started tramping down the stairs, and Annie felt muzzled, unable to explain her behavior in front of them.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “It’s not what you think.” She wasn’t sure Monroe or Belinda heard her. “I’d better go wash my hands.” She passed the children at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hi kids!” she said, trying to keep her tone light. She felt the adults staring after her, but the children’s voices filled the parlor.
Annie reached the bathroom, pushed the door shut with her hip and unbuttoned her coat, dropping it on the tile floor. The porcelain faucet hardware, retro in her time with their crossed handles, presented a challenge. No simple lever to maneuver, she had to lean forward and position her elbows around the hot water handle, twisting her upper torso until it turned.
“Hot, hot, hot!” she moaned, dipping her hands in and out. She repeated the procedure to turn on the cold water, then stared at the bar of soap—the same one used by the family. While she let water run over her hands, she studied the damp towel that the children had used.
“Nope,” she muttered. “None of this is going to work. I don’t know how contagious this thing is.”
Annie wished she’d known more about the bacteria that caused typhoid. Was it safe for her to pick up the soap? Where were the spare towels? Was this one of those diseases where clothing had to be burned?
She bent over and leaned her arms on the sink edge, trying to remember anything that she had heard or read about the spread of disease, especially typhoid. The knock on the door shouldn’t have surprised her. She had been in the bathroom for a while.
“Yes?” she called out.
“It’s me, Claire. Mama sent me up to see if you are all right.”
“Come in, Claire,” Annie said, more to avoid shouting over the running water. The door opened, and Annie looked over her shoulder to see Claire standing uncertainly in the doorway.
“Mama sent me up here to see if you are all right,” she repeated. “She wondered why the water was still running.”
“I’m fine,” Annie said, straightening, her hands still under the water. “I’m just—” Actually, she had no idea what she was doing. “Claire, could you do me a favor? Could you break off a bit of that soap and drop it into my palms? Don’t touch me. Just drop it in.”
“I beg your pardon?” Claire asked, moving to stand beside her.
“Can you crumble some of that soap off and drop it in my hand?”
“I don’t know how to do that,” Claire said, picking up the bar. “It’s very hard. Here, you can just rub it in your hands.” She offered the bar to Annie.
“No!” Annie said. “Please, Claire. Do your best. I promise I’ll use it all.”
Claire, giving Annie a skeptical look, returned her attention to the bar. She picked at it for a moment.
“It’s very hard. What if I put some of the suds on your hands?”
“Claire, that won’t work. Please try to break a bit off,” Annie begged.
Claire shrugged and went back to work. Annie turned and surveyed the bathroom for anything else she could use, including a spare towel.
“Hey, what’s that box on that shelf? Is that powder cleanser?”
Claire followed Annie’s eyes to a small box on a cabinet.
“No. Mama calls that antiseptic dental powder. We have to brush our teeth with it. I don’t like the taste at all.”
“Antiseptic? Now? Better yet! Can you get the box and pour some of that over my hands?”
“Oh, Cousin Annie, I’m not sure Mama would approve. It’s for brushing.”
“Dear Claire, I’ll tell her I asked you to get it for me. Can you please do that?”
“Yes.” She retrieved the box from the shelf.
“Now, pour it over my hands.”
Claire poured a smidge over Annie’s hands.
“More, please.”
Claire complied, if a bit reluctantly.
“That’s it. Good.” Claire rubbed her hands with the gritty powder, assuming it was a lot more like baking soda than any kind of antiseptic she had ever used. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red.
“Could you get me a fresh towel?”
“You can use the one hanging from the wall,” Claire said
agreeably.
“I would like a fresh one. Please.”
Claire returned to the cabinet and opened the bottom doors. She retrieved a white linen towel and brought it to Annie.
“Thank you!” Annie wiped, then turned off the taps.
“The water was on a long time,” Claire murmured, casting an eye toward the open door. “Mama will be wondering what we’ve been doing.”
“Yes, I know. I’m so sorry. I’ll explain everything to her. Don’t worry, Claire.” Annie kept the towel. “Thank you! Where can I put this towel?”
“You can hang it on the rack there.” She pointed to the rack the communal hand towel hung on.
“Better not,” Annie said. “Laundry?”
“There is a laundry chute on that wall.” Claire pointed to a small door. She walked over and pulled on a handle, revealing a drop chute. “It goes into the laundry room near the back door.”
“Well, that’s interesting!” Annie said. She returned to the mirror, finally removed her hat and then turned to pick up her coat from the floor. Claire watched her curiously, her eyes widening as she saw Annie shake out the coat.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drop your mom’s coat on the floor, but I was in a hurry.”
Claire said nothing.
“Well, shall we go downstairs? What did your mom cook for supper?” Annie tried to keep her voice light and chatty.
“I don’t know, but we’re having hot apple pie for dessert!”
“That sounds yummy!” Annie said, reaching the top of the staircase.
“With vanilla ice cream on top!”
“What?” Annie screeched. Poised on the first step, she whirled around to look at Claire behind her. She lost her balance and felt herself falling.
Chapter Nine
A blur of polished dark oak and the sound of Claire screaming were all that Annie remembered of her fall. Her right hip burned, her left knee ached, two of her fingers throbbed, and the side of her head pounded.
Claire clattered down the stairs. “Mama!” she shrieked, clattering down the stairs. “Papa!”
Annie, dizzy and disoriented, tried to sit up, but she honestly didn’t know which way was up.
“Annie!” Belinda cried out, reaching her side at the same time as Claire. They both dropped to their knees.
Annie didn’t know which body part to touch. They all hurt. Monroe came up behind Belinda, and the children followed.
“She fell down the stairs, Mama,” Claire said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Annie mumbled. She didn’t feel fine though.
“No, young lady, I do not think you’re fine,” Monroe said. He slid his hands underneath Annie’s arms and pulled her to a standing position.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Annie cried out.
“Where do you hurt?” Belinda asked, helping Monroe maneuver a limping Annie to the sofa.
“Everywhere,” Annie said. “That was clumsy of me.”
“You are not the first person to fall down the stairs. I doubt you will be the last,” Monroe said. He settled her onto the sofa, a softer landing than the wood floor she had experienced only moments before.
“Claire, Cathy, please take the children upstairs while we tend to Annie.”
“Me, Mama? Can’t I stay here?” Claire asked.
“No, Claire, I need your help with the babies,” Belinda said. She removed Annie’s shoes and lifted her legs onto the couch.
Annie did her best not to moan as the movement wrenched her hip.
Claire and Cathy took the children upstairs in a babble of questions about what had happened.
Belinda bent over and examined Annie’s head. “Your temple is red and swelling to quite a knot. You must have bumped your head.” She looked over her shoulder. “Monroe, can you go fetch Dr. Mallory? I think Annie needs to be examined.”
“Yes, dear, right away,” he said.
Annie protested. “No, don’t go there.”
“Whyever not?” Monroe asked, his voice still soothing.
“Annie Warner!” Belinda snapped. “I have had enough of your contrariness! The doctor will come see you, and you will like it!”
Annie tried to bring Belinda’s face into focus. Her vision blurred. “I’m not being contrary,” she murmured, her mouth dry. “Typhoid fever. Someone has typhoid fever.”
Belinda straightened, and her voice seemed to come from far away. “Go get the doctor, Monroe. She is absolutely possessed on this subject. Dinner will have to wait.”
“Dinner should wait,” Annie mumbled, the room spinning around her. “No dinner. No ice cream. Please don’t. Typhoid fever. Dr. Mallory. Someone is sick.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Belinda said.
Annie fainted on those words.
Sometime later, her right eyelid was pried open, and she looked into Dr. Mallory’s warm brown eyes. She smiled at the handsome man sitting next to her on the edge of the sofa.
“Doc,” she said. Over his shoulder, she saw Belinda hovering, and beyond her, Monroe waited and watched. He still wore his hat and coat. So did Dr. Mallory.
Annie, a bit groggy, tried to push herself to a sitting position, but the doctor put a restraining hand on her shoulder. He removed his hat and set it on the floor beside the couch.
“I heard you fell down the stairs,” he said. “What hurts?”
“Everything,” Annie said.
“More specifically where?”
“Everywhere. My head, my hip, my knee and my hand. At least.”
Dr. Mallory smiled. “Which hip, which knee and which hand?”
“I don’t know, Doc. All of them?” She smiled weakly.
“Please try and cooperate with the doctor, Annie,” Belinda said.
Dr. Mallory looked over his shoulder. “Annie is just teasing, Belinda.” He returned his attention to Annie.
“You’re here,” she said in a bemused voice. “Is it eight o’clock?”
“No, not yet. It is about six. Monroe came to get me. He said you had fallen down the stairs.”
“Ice cream,” Annie said. “Apple pie and ice cream. I fainted. It’s six already. Did they eat? Am I too late?”
“Oh dear, Dr. Mallory, Annie has been going on and on about ice cream and disease ever since she’s been here,” Belinda spoke. “She sounds even more obsessed with the subject now. Has she sustained serious damage to her head?”
“No, I don’t think so. She does seem a bit disoriented, and it’s possible she might have a concussion, but nothing more than that. You’ll want to watch that tonight. May I examine you, Annie? Your hips, knees and hands?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Monroe, dear, why don’t you take Dr. Mallory’s coat and hat and hang them up? Could you get us some tea? The kettle is hot. Can Annie drink tea, Dr. Mallory?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
Annie heard clattering on the stairs, and Claire appeared.
“Claire, please serve the children and see that they eat,” Belinda called out.
Claire nodded and followed her father into the dining room.
“You must be starved, Annie,” Belinda said. “I’ll ask Claire to prepare a plate for you.”
“No!” Annie cried out. She pressed her palm to her temple, trying not to shake her head. “No, no, no.”
“Doctor?” Belinda asked. “What is wrong with her?”
“I don’t think Annie should eat right now. It might make her nauseous.” He held Annie’s hands, examining each one as he spoke. “Are you nauseous?”
“No,” Annie said. “I’m sorry, Belinda. It’s not that I’m not hungry or don’t want to eat. Dr. Mallory, talk to her.”
Dr. Mallory sighed heavily. “I need to finish examining you to see if we need to take you to the hospital. We will wait for Monroe to return.”
“The kids...” Annie said.
“What are you two talking about?” Belinda asked. “What is going on? What about the children?”
Dr. Mallory paused in his examination and turned to Belinda. “Annie came to see me again later today for some information. At the end of our visit, I agreed to come speak to you and Monroe. But Monroe came to get me, so I have come early. Annie wished to speak to you after the children had gone to bed at about eight o’clock.”
Now Belinda sighed heavily.
“Not this again. Is this about ice cream and typhoid fever again?”
“Claire said you’re having ice cream and apple pie for dessert?” Annie said, her tone almost accusing.
Belinda crossed her arms, her face taking on a mulish expression. “I don’t want to speak of this again. I’m very sorry, Dr. Mallory. Thank you for coming to take care of Annie after her fall, but I will not discuss ice cream, milk, the drugstore, dairy farms or typhoid fever again!”
Dr. Mallory seemed unperturbed. “I’m afraid we must speak of it, but I would like to wait until Monroe can join us. In the meantime, do not under any circumstances allow the children to eat ice cream tonight.”
Belinda’s jaw dropped open, and her blue eyes flashed. She didn’t protest, though, but pressed her lips together and strode away in the direction of the kitchen.
“She seems angry,” Dr. Mallory said, moving his fingers up and down the side of Annie’s hips. “Which hip pains you?”
“The right one. I know. She probably is. I’ve been harassing her about ice cream and typhoid fever ever since I got here, but with no proof. How is that man who came in? Did he have typhoid fever?”
Dr. Mallory nodded. “He does. Jack churns ice cream at Swenson’s Dairy Farm. He is in the hospital now.”
“Swenson’s Dairy Farm,” Annie repeated. “It’s happened.”
“It has,” Dr. Mallory said. “You were right, Annie.”
“I didn’t know if it came from Goodie’s Drugstore or the farm,” she said.
“Since the farm supplies at least Goodie’s Drugstore, both are affected. The hospital has already contacted the public health department, and they will contact all distribution sources.”
“Is he the carrier?”
Dr. Mallory shook his head. His fingers moved on to her knees.
