“Lyle, you could draw the bath and light candles around for her,” said the doctor.
Lyle diligently scribbled every word into his little notebook.
Each morning and afternoon Belinda was to do specific mild exercises and take a ten-minute leisurely stroll outside. She was to peruse the fall colors and other calming things, and if she was having a good time, she could extend the stroll to fifteen minutes. In inclement weather, she was to stroll around inside the house and only look at pretty things.
She was to do absolutely no work of any kind, and no reading the paper or watching the news, no horror or thriller movies or books. Nothing that might possibly raise her blood pressure.
“What about visitors?” asked Belinda.
“I think visitors might…” The doctor’s eyes came round to meet Belinda’s. “On second thought, limit your visitors. Just tell everyone ‘doctor’s orders’ for this first week. Lyle, you take charge of that.”
Lyle, scribbling, nodded and set himself to see that Belinda followed every word of the doctor’s orders.
He need not have worried. If the doctor had told Belinda to walk five miles a day and never have another Little Debbie snack cake ever in her life in order to bring the baby healthy into the world, Belinda was ready to do it.
“We’ll have to postpone our honeymoon,” Vella told Jaydee. “I’m the only one Belinda will feel comfortable having in charge of the drugstore.”
“You are right as rain,” Jaydee instantly agreed. He was a quick study, and also occupied with moving all his things into Vella’s house at last. He didn’t want to go anywhere else.
Instructed by Lyle as to the doctor’s orders, Vella called only after the first day to tell in glowing detail how wonderfully the store was doing and all the money it was making. She thought this would reassure Belinda, but then Jaydee pointed out that Belinda might be hurt to think the store could do without her, so Vella called the next day to ask her daughter’s advice on a few matters. Then she worried about upsetting Belinda. Vella got into an unusual twist over it all, with the result that she ended up on blood pressure medication for the first time in her life, a circumstance that she went around telling everyone and then cautioning them not to tell Belinda.
Emma Berry and Naomi Smith came without notice. Emma brought a tossed salad and chicken pot pie and a Lindt dark chocolate bar, with a note that read: In case of emergency. Naomi sat at Belinda’s feet, put her hands on them and prayed in her soft, deep voice. “Dear Father God, it is written that where two or more are gathered in prayer, You hear. We here at this time hold Belinda and her dear sweet baby up to You, askin’ for Your special care. We trust that all is well and all will be well, in Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Thank you…thank you both,” Belinda said, the sound of her words stilted as she willed herself to perfect composure.
If they only knew, a voice whispered deep inside.
The women’s visit lasted no more than five minutes. A half an hour later, Lyle discovered a note taped to the back door: Patient resting. Do not disturb.
Curious, he went to the front door. A note of the same sort was taped there, too. He left them.
“Maybe we can get someone to come help,” said Lyle. “Maybe Marilee could spare Rosalba.”
The idea of some stranger in the private sanctuary of her house made Belinda’s eyes go wide. “No! I only want you.”
“Well, honey, you got me.”
Lyle was thrilled. His wife really needed him. He took the week off work to wait on her hand and foot.
Their days were idyllic. Mornings began with Belinda waking earlier than normal and listening to the Wake Up radio program, while Lyle made breakfast and brought it in on a tray. They breakfasted together in bed, and then Lyle got busy on the nursery. The hole had been cut in the wall for the door, and Belinda and Lyle could wave back and forth at each other. A dozen times a day, he asked her, “You need anything, honey?”
Sometimes on her walk to the bathroom or outside, she would pause and look into the nursery and say with a smile through tears, “She’s goin’ to love it…and I love you.”
Lyle put together the crib and brought in the dresser with changing top. He brought home the rocker Belinda had chosen and let her direct the placement, again and again.
“Ummm, two inches right…back a little…no, forward. There.”
He hung the curtains three times, due to Belinda wanting to get them just right. And then he brought in what he had been building in the garage: an oak cradle with spindles, and carving at the head and foot.
Belinda cried over the cradle in such a way as to worry Lyle. Finally she seemed to calm down a little. He put the cradle where she could touch it from the bed. Time and again, as she listened to her meditation CD or an Agatha Christie mystery, she would reach out and set the cradle to rocking. “Practicing,” she told him.
Cards of encouragement poured in. Soon they covered all the surfaces around the room, all seeming to smile at her. Many were from customers who wrote, You may not remember me, but you helped me…. They told of things that Belinda for the most part did not recall doing. A card bearing a shiny photograph of red roses was signed James Thomas Bartholemew, written in a very lovely hand, and below that was the explanation: I am the fellow you have fed out the back door.
Belinda cried against Lyle’s chest again. He was growing used to it, and he liked it, although he began to think that maybe he should limit her reading the cards.
No one she would rather see! Emma, Winston, Willie Lee and Munro.
“I ran into Lyle,” Emma said, rolling up her sleeves. “He said the doctor ordered a second week of bed rest. He looked a little worried about havin’ to leave you, and I thought maybe you could use a hand around here. We won’t tire you.”
Willie Lee said in his normal factual manner, “We came to see you and make you feel bet-ter.”
“I brought your mother’s sweet tea and some lemon,” said Winston, easing himself down into the nearby wingback chair.
Belinda, with unaccustomed eagerness, invited Willie Lee and Munro onto the satin covers of the bed. Emma brought them glasses of the sweet tea, then returned to clean the kitchen, leaving Winston and Willie Lee to fill Belinda in on everything happening around town.
While Willie Lee told about dancing with Gabby at the wedding reception, Winston fell asleep. The quickness of it startled Belinda.
“He is on-ly sleep-ing,” Willie Lee assured her. “He will wake up soo-n.”
“Ah.” Belinda’s gaze lingered on Winston’s dear old face, and then she looked at Willie Lee and asked in a hushed voice, “How is my little girl?”
He put a gentle hand on her belly, tilted his head as if listening, then said, “She says she is well.”
“Oh, good.” Belinda brightened with anticipation of getting out of bed and doing many things.
But Willie Lee added, “I think may-be you sh-ould still stay in bed, thou-gh.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yes. Miss Des-i-rée Jane is a lit-tle tir-ed.”
“Oh. Is that her name?”
Willie Lee nodded. “Yes. That is the na-me she wants.”
“It is a beautiful name,” Belinda said, smiling softly as she thought of the two women who were an enormous help to bringing her baby into the world: Dr. Desirée Zwolle and Agatha Christie’s famous fictional Miss Jane Marple.
“Yes.”
When, at the next visit, Dr. Zwolle told her bed rest for the remaining weeks of her pregnancy, Belinda said, “Yes, I know. I’m ready.”
Dishes perpetually filled the sink, washing piled up in the laundry room and the house generally went to disarray, and so did Lyle, trying as he was to work and take care of his wife.
“This isn’t nothin’,” his fellow deputy and father of two, Giff, told him. “You wait until the baby comes. You might as well get used to bein’ sleepy and messy and hungry for the next five years.”
When the audio book ended, s
he heard sirens.
Sounded like fire engine sirens.
It really was aggravating to be so out of things. But she did not need to know everything, she told herself, and decided to attack the crochet baby blanket again. Learning to crochet at this particular time might not have been a good idea.
Sirens again. She tilted her head, listening. Ten minutes later, curiosity overcame her, and she picked up the phone to call Lyle.
He sounded breathless. “It’s Joe Miller’s house. He burned it down.”
“Oh, my…are they okay? Was Paris there…was she…”
“Paris is okay. She got a few burns, but she’s okay. Joe got smoke inhalation, but looks like he’s gonna be okay, too. Look, I got to go. You just keep relaxed. Paris and Joe are bein’ taken care of. You stay off the phone, and I’ll call you back soon as I can.”
“Okay.” Belinda laid the phone beside her in the bed.
Stroking her belly, she considered getting in the car and driving over to see for herself. What exactly did a few burns mean? Hands? Face? Eyes?
In the next five minutes, the phone rang twice. First it was her mother, and Belinda answered before she thought. Her mother told her that she was on her way to the Millers’, and that two more houses had caught on fire from sparks from the original fire, but, “Don’t even think of comin’. The firemen have it under control, and the paramedics, too. And Jaydee and I are right here.”
“Mama…get that burn remedy. The one with aloe and grapeseed oil.” The idea seemed important in that minute.
The second call was Julia Jenkins-Tinsley, and seeing the name on the caller ID, Belinda had the presence of mind not to answer and tie up the line. Then she changed her mind and answered, but Julia had hung up.
She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom to use the toilet, and since she was up, she thought she might as well get dressed, and perhaps drive over and see for herself. Paris might need her. Surely a drive over could not raise her blood pressure any more than it already was, which really did not seem all that much. She felt fine, with the exception of carrying around a thirty-pound watermelon belly that had begun kicking and tumbling.
The phone rang. Dang it—she had left it on the bed. Holding her heavy belly, she moved as fast as she could.
Emma Berry, read the caller ID.
“Hello? Emma?”
“Yes. Honey, I’ve got Paris.”
Belinda could hear noise in the background. “Lyle called earlier and told me about the fire. How is she? Is she badly burned?”
“No…no, she got some burns and some scrapes, but she’s okay.” Then, Emma’s tone dropping low, “Oh, Belinda…she had just gotten home and saw the smoke. She ran in to save her granddad. He was passed out…you know. She pulled him out just in time.”
“Oh, Lord.” It was a prayer, eyes closing.
“Belinda…she wants to come to you.”
“You said I could call you,” Paris said, the poor girl shivering and babbling. “That day you brought me home. I just—”
“You come in here…. Shush…don’t talk. Just come on in. I’ve got a hot bath ready for you.”
The girl had a bandage on her forehead, and several more were revealed when she peeled away the blanket in which she was wrapped.
Belinda cautioned the girl to leave the bandages on and not get them wet. She was loathe to leave her alone, but the girl obviously was waiting for her to do so. Belinda understood the deep need for privacy. “You holler if you need anything. I’ll just be in my room across the hall.”
Emma told all in a low voice. “It looks like Joe may have passed out with a lit cigarette. The house was just a tinderbox, anyway. He was still incoherent when the paramedics worked on him. Newley Dodd said he thinks Joe is malnourished due to alcoholism, and could be he’s lost his mind. I can’t believe Paris went in there and had to drag him out. Lucky he doesn’t weigh too much, skinny as he’s gotten. The roofs on the houses on either side caught fire, but the firemen saved them.
“They’re takin’ Joe to the VA hospital. The sheriff is pretty sure they will keep him on the psych ward for a while, at least. He called DHS, and someone from their office should show up here soon. He said that was policy. I told him—and Paris—that she was welcome to come to stay with us, but she wanted to come here.”
“Well, of course she can stay here,” Belinda said instantly. “I told her a number of months ago to call me if she needed me.”
Emma touched her arm. “Just don’t you overdo it, honey.”
They sat in silence for a long minute, and then Belinda expressed what they were both thinking. “We should all be ashamed for not doin’ somethin’ about the situation before it came to this.”
Paris let Miss Belinda tuck her into bed like a baby. It was in Miss Belinda’s guest bedroom, with a private bathroom and everything, including the prettiest bed Paris had ever in her life slept in, with the softest sheets and fluffiest pillow. Still, even wearing Miss Belinda’s pajamas—silky soft and by Ralph Lauren—and under the blanket and comforter, she could not quit shaking.
Miss Belinda appeared again. “Here, sugar. These will help you.”
“These” were two hot water bottles that Miss Belinda tucked around her; then she adjusted the covers again around her chin.
“Did anyone call about my granddaddy?”
“Not yet, but you rest assured he is bein’ taken care of. You know that the sheriff and Lyle will see to it. You got him out, sugar—you saved his life. You were so brave…and that is all you possibly can do. Now, you get some sleep…and you are on complete bed rest for the next three days, you hear me? I’m the doctor, and those are the orders. Believe me, I know about bed rest, and it cures a multitude of conditions, at least for about three days.”
The entire time Miss Belinda talked, she straightened the covers and stroked Paris’s forehead, until Paris’s eyes closed all on their own.
Miss Belinda smelled good, she thought…everything in the room smelled good. Her shaking was stopping.
The lamp went out, and there was a soft sound of Miss Belinda leaving, whispers in the hallway. Miss Emma. She sure hoped that Miss Emma was not mad at her for not going to her house. She would not want to offend Miss Emma, who had been so nice to her for so long.
But Paris had been thinking about coming here since the day Miss Belinda had said to call her. She was so ashamed about how glad she was to be here, away from her grandfather and all that life.
Her last thought was, I’m glad our house burned down.
The next day, Miss Belinda repeated what she had said about bed rest. She said she would order lunch delivered from the Main Street Café, and Lyle would be home to cook supper. At lunch they sat together at the kitchen table, and Miss Belinda said that Paris was welcome to live with them until she went to college, or as long as she wanted.
“We’ll fix the bedroom up any way you like…and Emma Berry and I think it would be good for you to take at least two weeks off work to rest.”
Miss Belinda seemed to have her life pretty well mapped out, and Paris was relieved. She could hardly think, and those things she did seem to think, she did not want anyone to know.
That evening she finally was able to ask again about her grandfather. She was told that he had been taken to the VA hospital, and that it looked as if he was going to be there for some time.
“Honey, he is too weak to leave, and his mind…well, he is suffering dementia now. He wouldn’t be able to talk to you on the phone.”
Paris’s head dropped as she began to cry. She was so embarrassed for anyone to see her cry, so embarrassed over her entire life. All she could think of was how she had failed her grandfather, and now everyone knew how bad it was.
Then Miss Belinda was there beside her, enveloping her.
What made Paris quit crying was the baby kicking her in the face. She pulled back and looked at Miss Belinda’s belly in surprise, and then upward at the woman’s face. They broke into laughter.
She had a thought then. “I can help you around here.”
The house really was messy. Beautiful and awesome, but messy.
“You sure can,” said Miss Belinda, smiling.
Paris was surprised to see that Miss Belinda had tears running down her face, too.
CHAPTER 21
1550 on the Radio Dial
Stay Tuned for Further Developments
“IN THE HEADLINES THIS MORNIN’—THE VALENTINE school district just signed a new head principal, who will be takin’ over first of December. Fine fella by the name of Josh Tillman, and with that name, I imagine he has some Chickasaw in him. We may even be related. Seems like my wife had some Tillman in her…what? Oh, yes, movin’ on—the Valentine area received six inches of rain yesterday, and the Church Street extension is closed, you’ll have to use First Street. And—here’s the biggie—the carousel for Valentine’s Carousel Park has been lost in transit.
“Everett, I’m turnin’ the microphone over to you to tell about this situation.”
“I, uh…”
Taken by surprise, Everett stared at the microphone. Winston turning it over to him? “Yes, we have a situation here.” Realizing his high tone, he lowered it, reaching for Walter Cronkite level. “John Cole Berry, who has been handling the logistics of the carousel, was told last night that the carousel is missing in transit. It was supposed to show up to Oklahoma City yesterday, and it didn’t. The authorities have been notified, and an all-points bulletin has gone out for it…for the carousel.”
Everett shifted uncomfortably. He might have misspoken with that term “all-points bulletin.” Hope he didn’t sound silly.
Winston was saying, “Well, now, Everett, the Valentine hundredth anniversary party is comin’ up here in a couple of weeks. Can you give us the details on just what…”
For the next ten minutes, not only did Winston interview Everett, but people called in with questions, and Winston let Everett do all the talking.
Little Town, Great Big Life Page 23