by Tamara Bundy
CHAPTER 18
On New Year’s Eve, Daddy went to the hospital and finally got to see Charlotte—really see her and touch her and hear her.
That filled me with hope—it had to mean she was getting better, but I needed to hear Daddy say it.
“What was the visit like? What was her room like? What was my sissy like? Did she talk a lot? When can I see her too? Why aren’t you answering me?”
Daddy laughed. “Take a breath, Pru. Everything’s fine. I wasn’t saying anything ’cause you didn’t give me a chance to jump in anywhere. It was great to see her—even if she’s weak, she’s still Charlotte.” His voice cracked a bit. “So good to see her.”
“Does she sound the same?”
Daddy knew I’d been asking about this for a while.
Our neighbors the Browns have a telephone at their house. On Christmas Day, I begged Daddy to let me try to call Charlotte, so we walked over there to borrow their phone. But between it being long-distance and us not even knowing how to reach Charlotte once we did get the call to go through to the hospital, it didn’t amount to a hill of beans.
I just wanted the sound of my sissy to fill my head—her voice, her laugh, even her scolding me.
Daddy laughed at my question, messing up my hair all playful-like as he answered, “Her voice sounds exactly like it used to. That hasn’t changed.”
’Course that wasn’t what I was getting at. I didn’t want to admit that every day it was getting harder and harder to remember Mama’s voice. I couldn’t bear to forget Charlotte’s too.
Fortunately, he brought me a special delivery from Charlotte, which was the next-best way to start the New Year. When I took the letter from Daddy—who might’ve been smiling as much as me at my excitement—I ran straight to my room.
Dear Pixie,
Can you believe Christmas is over? I clung to all our Christmas memories this year—hanging the tinsel on the tree on Christmas Eve, waking up on Christmas morning, finding apples and some candies in our stockings. It’s funny how those memories helped me get through the days, but also felt so far away, like they were just a dream.
Promise me we’ll make new memories when I get out of here.
Holidays in the hospital are pretty much like regular days. The food is still bland and mushy. I mean, I don’t want to complain, but Grandma’s cooking is a whole lot better, that’s for sure.
They put up a Christmas tree in the lobby, and I took little Nancy to see it. She was confused and wondered why a tree was inside. She makes me laugh, which is nice, as not a lot makes me laugh anymore.
The other day, Nurse Margie had to come and get me when Nancy was about to get her therapy. Nancy wouldn’t stop asking for me because she was scared. But when I held her, she was so brave. I try hard, but I don’t feel so brave some days.
I finished Little Women. It was good, but I didn’t like what happened to the sister named Beth at all. Maybe you could read it sometime and we can talk about it.
Grandma crocheted me an afghan. It’s pretty and soft and blue. In one of her letters, she said you’re learning to crochet. Really? You? I’ll believe that when I see it.
Thanks for the updates on school. I always told you Miss Beany was nice. Tell Ricky I said hi.
And, Pixie, stop saying you’re sorry. The doctors say there’s no way to know where I got polio. It’s not your fault. It just happened—just like Mama getting sick and not getting better. It just happened, and none of it is your fault.
Wish I was home to talk to you about everything. But you know what Grandma says: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
Well, I have to go now.
See you in the New Year, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.
Love,
Charlotte
I shook my head. Here I’d been worried about forgetting the sound of Charlotte’s voice and the way she laughs. But now, even worse, I was learning she was having trouble finding reasons to laugh at all.
CHAPTER 19
Granddaddy and those dang crab apples and rabbits were right about winter. January was the coldest, snowiest month I could remember. The only good thing about it was that school was canceled for weeks at a time when snow shut down the roads.
Before I lived here, I thought winter would be easier on a farm, with no crops growing, but winter makes chores even harder. Eggs still have to be gathered in the freezing cold, and the animals’ water needs to be changed constantly, to keep it from turning into a giant piece of ice.
Granddaddy doesn’t have a ton of animals, but they all still need feeding and tending. There’s Molly, the milking cow; the horse we call Horse; and some pigs who don’t have names, since they’re raised to go to market. There used to be a mule for helping in the fields—but he died and Granddaddy didn’t replace him. And Molly had a calf a while back, but Granddaddy sold it, even though Daddy says the farm needs more livestock. Since the animals are inside the barn most of the winter, it needs raking out every day.
Trips to the outhouse in the frosty weather were awful. At least I had a bedpan to use at night so I didn’t have to go out in the dark when, as Granddaddy said, “nature called.”
Big-Mouth Berta brags about having an indoor bathroom at her house. I can’t imagine an outhouse in the middle of a house, but I guess it’d sure be nice not to have to do your business outside in the winter.
One of the worst parts of it being cold and snowy was that we couldn’t even plan on visiting Charlotte, with the roads being so bad.
Guess I surprised myself when I came to realize another reason I was mad at winter was that Ricky needed to stay at his house on the really bad days. Guess I was kinda getting used to him coming around.
One cold stretch kept him home for six days straight. On his first day back, I felt like I hadn’t seen him in a month. We did our chores and then thawed out by the fire. Since Ricky had showed me his letter from his brother, I decided to share my latest one with him.
He read the letter like there would be a test on it afterward. I watched his eyes go back and forth, moving over each new line. When he was done, he put the letter down and asked, “Why ya think you gave your sissy the polio?”
This was something I’d never told a soul, other than Charlotte in the letters. But now I took a deep breath and said, “Last summer, Grandma told us over and over that someone in Centerville got polio and that they’d closed the movie theater and swimming pool just to be safe. She also heard on the news report that polio might get you if you swam in water that was really warm. Same guy on the radio said it was ’specially bad during the dog days of August and we should never swim then.”
“Huh? What’s the guy on the radio have to do with Charlotte catching the polio?”
“I’m getting to that,” I said. “So it was the hottest day of the year. Grandma had us delivering the eggs to the grocer all summer long. Usually, we’d walk home along Elm Street, but that day it was so stinking hot we took a shortcut home through Mill Creek. Most of the creek was dried up that time of year, but there was one spot that ran deep. Oh, it looked invitin’ and cool, and the sun was beatin’ down so hard on me, I couldn’t resist. I took off my shoes and started to wade in the water. All I was gonna do was wade. ’Course, Charlotte, since she never broke a rule in her life, scolded me plenty about being in the creek in the dog days of August like the radio guy warned about.”
I looked at Ricky to see if he understood how awful I was. His expression didn’t show anything but interest in what I was saying, so I continued. “I really was just plannin’ on wadin’ for a minute—you can’t get sick from getting your feet wet, can you? But Charlotte wasn’t allowing that. She came to grab me out of the water, but must have slipped on a rock or something and fell facedown.”
Ricky gasped. “In the bad water? Was it bad water?”
“
It felt like regular creek water, but all Charlotte and me could think of was the warnings. We shot out of there as fast as we could and swore we wouldn’t tell what happened. Two weeks later, she got the fever. So you see, it’s all my fault Charlotte got polio.”
“But you can’t be sure.”
Except I was as sure of that as I was sure of the fact that I was staring at a blazing fire right then. I stared so long it must’ve burned my eyes, ’cause all of a sudden, tears fell down my cheeks. Then I got to shivering so bad my whole body shook.
“Are you cold?” Ricky asked. “It’s nice and warm right here. Kinda too warm.”
I shivered again.
Come to find out my burning eyes and shivering were the start of a fever.
And just like that, I knew polio finally got me too.
CHAPTER 20
I wasn’t the only one who feared it was my turn to get really sick.
When Grandma felt my forehead, I saw in her eyes the same worry I was feeling. “I reckon you’re warm all right,” she said, nodding, her lips pursed tight together. “Ricky, I think you oughta be headin’ home ’bout now. Tell your mama I’ll check in with her tomorrow.”
He stood up. “Pixie’s gonna be okay, right?”
Grandma’s lips found a smile this time. “’Course she will be. Probably a silly cold or something. Don’t worry. Tell your mama hi.”
But as soon as Ricky left, Grandma didn’t look as certain as she put her hand on my forehead again, followed by her lips. “Hmm . . . let me get the thermometer.”
I wrinkled my nose, since that thermometer always tasted of the bitter alcohol it sat in between uses. But before I could protest, Grandma was back and shaking the thermometer down. “Open up, now.”
The cool glass warmed fast under my hot tongue. I couldn’t even think about the bitter taste, since I was watching the worry in Grandma’s eyes. And I couldn’t quiet the worries in my own head.
Is this my turn?
Will they be taking me to the hospital tonight?
Grandma sensed my worry. “You’ll be fine. Just fine.” She put her arm around me and squeezed me tight.
Then she pulled the thermometer out of my mouth and tipped it to read where the red line stopped. Her face couldn’t hide her reaction. “Let’s get you into bed so you can get some rest.”
“What’s my temperature?” I asked.
“Never you mind that. You’ll be fine,” she said again, but this time I wasn’t sure which one of us she was trying to convince.
* * *
* * *
Grandma tucked me into bed while Daddy went to the Browns’ house to call Doc Simpson. My eyes felt so heavy I had a hard time keeping them open, but still I couldn’t sleep.
Daddy came up to see me when he got back. “How’re you doing?” he asked, touching the top of my head, his hands ice-cold.
“Not good.”
He sat on the edge of my bed. “I know what you’re thinking, and I want you to know that Doc Simpson said polio doesn’t spread much during the winter and you definitely couldn’t catch it from Charlotte five months earlier. He said for us to keep an eye on you, and he’ll be out tomorrow to check in on you.”
That night, tired and achy as I was, I tossed and turned. Grandma stayed with me, putting cool, wet towels on my forehead.
By the weak light of the moon, I could see her in the rocking chair she’d moved into my room, with her head down. I guessed her to be asleep, but I had to tell her nonetheless. “I deserve to get polio.”
Grandma didn’t move her head, but her words came out louder than a whisper. “Don’t talk nonsense.” Her eyes stayed shut.
“But I do. I deserve to get polio. It’s my fault Charlotte’s sick. It would be right if I got it too.”
Grandma got out of her rocking chair and sat next to me on my bed. I was certain she was going to demand I confess my sins right there. But her face was kinder than I’d ever seen it before. She put the back of her hand gently on my forehead, tickling me a bit when she brushed away my hair. “What’s right is that you get better. What’s right is that I don’t lose another of my girls. Now hush and get some rest.”
I think I finally slept then.
When I woke up in the morning, Grandma was still there. And maybe it was the fever making me what Charlotte would call delirious, but I swear when I blinked my eyes open, Grandma called me Pixie.
* * *
* * *
Doc Simpson came out later that morning and assured us what I had didn’t look at all like polio. And he was sure some bad-tasting medicine would make my burning throat better. He wanted Grandma to keep me home from school a few days, which was fine with me.
For the first couple of days, I think we all worried the doctor might be wrong. Grandma was never far from my side. And on the rare moment when she wasn’t next to me, Granddaddy or Daddy took her place.
But after lots of chicken soup and yucky medicine, my fever broke—and I could finally swallow without it feeling like broken glass.
No sooner was I out of bed than I got the best news. Well, not the best news, since that would have been Charlotte coming home. But I got the second-best news I could get.
I was sitting with Granddaddy, listening to the radio playing music I imagined people in fancy clothes dancing to. I’d shut my eyes to picture the dancing in my head.
“You feeling better, Prudence?”
My eyes popped open, surprised to see Daddy standing there, his cheeks still red from the winter winds. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them to warm them. “I’m so much better, Daddy.”
He sat down next to me. “Well, good, ’cause I got a big job for you.”
Now, I wasn’t feeling good enough to do my jobs around the farm. I’d enjoyed the break being sick gave me from the dishes, and ’specially from gathering the eggs. “Maybe I’m not that much better, Daddy,” I said.
Granddaddy laughed as Daddy continued. “I’ll bet you’ll like this job. You see, Clyde Grayson has a ewe who had triplets. That’s a lot of babies for one sheep to care for—and she had ’em too early. The mama ain’t tending to one of the lambs—rejecting it.”
“That’s awful! How could a mama do that to her baby?”
Granddaddy spoke up. “That’s just the way nature works sometimes, Pixie. Sometimes a mama won’t feed one of her babies. Sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason for it.”
Daddy nodded. “That’s right. And Clyde was saying he was thinking about killing the lamb so the other two baby lambs could grow stronger.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t let him kill that baby lamb!”
“I thought you’d say that. I suggested to Clyde that we take the lamb in and raise it. But it would have to be your job to feed it and take care of it. Do you think you could do that? But before you answer—keep in mind this here’s a farm. The lamb would be an animal on the farm—not a pet you get to keep.”
’Course I knew the lamb would be an animal on the farm. That didn’t matter—I’d still try my best.
But was my best ever good enough?
CHAPTER 21
Daddy moved one of his old wooden casket boxes into the cellar. With the lid off, it made a perfect crib for a baby lamb. I filled the box with old newspapers, a sheet, and some straw from the barn.
Normally, I hated going down to the cellar when Grandma would send me to fetch some of her canned vegetables. It had low ceilings and smelled like mold. But getting the bed ready for the lamb made me forget I didn’t like being there. I was spreading the straw out when Daddy came down the stairs holding a bundle in a blanket.
He handed the bundle to me, and I heard a soft sound that wasn’t as much of a baa as it was a bleh. Pulling back the blanket, I swear my heart jumped a little.
He was a pile of white wool surrounding a little tan face that had tiny black
eyes that looked straight into mine. There was a small patch of black wool that made it look like he had a big circle in the middle of his forehead. He was so small and squirming so much I was afraid I’d drop him.
Or was it her?
“Is it a boy or a girl, Daddy?”
“A little guy—two weeks old. He should be bigger by now. He’s definitely the runt. He’s gonna need lots of milk.”
Then it hit me. “How am I supposed to feed him?”
Daddy smiled. “The same way you feed a baby—with a bottle. I’ll have Grandma rustle up something for him. Guess cow’s milk will have to do.”
As Daddy walked up the stairs, I looked back at the lamb in my arms. He continued to bleat like he was telling me something real important. “Calm down, now. It’s okay,” I said. I tried to whisper soft to him like a mama would whisper to her baby, but he kept wiggling and bleating and looking at me like I didn’t understand.
And I didn’t.
I put him into the coffin box, thinking he might want to get acquainted with his new home on his own. At first, he was all tangled in the blanket he came wrapped in. It took him three tries to stand up straight without falling over.
Finally freeing himself of the blanket, he stood and shivered like he might never get warm again. I swore he was no more than a wool-covered bundle of nerves.
“It’s okay, little guy,” I said, trying to comfort him again. “I know you’re scared. I’ve been scared a lot too. But I’ll take care of you.”
And for one moment, that lamb stopped his shaking and looked me smack-dab in the eyes, like he was saying, Okay, then I won’t be afraid anymore.
That’s when Daddy came back with a bottle, sort of like the ones I’ve seen mamas use to feed their babies, but this one was bigger than those.
“Where’d that come from?” I asked.