by Alice Duncan
I did grab his hand, look him in the eyes—mine were full of unshed tears—and say, “Thank you, Johnny.”
He squeezed my hand. “It’ll all work out, Daisy. God’s got a plan for Billy and you, too.”
I wished I believed that. I could tell Johnny knew what I was thinking because he grinned at me, winked, and bent to kiss my cheek. As he did so, he whispered in my ear, “You know, Daisy, once you’re here on earth, there’s only one way out. Only one person I know about ever cheated the grave—and He didn’t do that either, come to think of it.”
Nodding my understanding and closer than ever to tears, I said, “Thanks, Johnny.” He understood. He didn’t sugar coat the benefits of religion or the realities of life, and I honored him for it.
Flossie declined our invitation. She said she had transportation but thanked us. Her shoulders were slightly bowed, and she looked the picture of despair when she walked away from our group—and Sam, blast him. I wanted to call her back, but there were too many members of my own family to think about that morning, so I didn’t.
The rest of the day was pleasant. We didn’t do much. I think we all took a nap (I know I did), then Aunt Vi fixed us a nice supper of beef stew and biscuits.
Billy didn’t eat much. When I asked him if he was all right, he looked at me as if I was crazy and said, “I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t.
By the time morning came, he had a raging fever and his lungs were so congested, he could scarcely breathe.
In a panic, I telephoned Dr. Benjamin at his home. He came to call at our house not long after I’d called him. He was such a wonderful man. He was also the one who’d told me so often that Billy’s undoubted morphine addiction was surely better for him than living with constant pain.
He doctored Billy as best he could, bringing with him a jar of Vick’s VapoRub and a couple of mustard plasters. “Don’t use ‘em too much because they’ll burn the hell out of his chest.”
I promised I wouldn’t.
He also recommended that we keep a steaming pot of water near his bed. He gave us some eucalyptus pods to put in the water, telling us the merits of eucalyptus as an aid to better breathing. He also said that if they ran out, I should dump some VapoRub into the pot. Then he and I propped Billy up with pillows so his lungs would be less likely to fill and smother him.
“Keep cool compresses on his forehead when his fever is high and wipe him down,” he advised me as he was leaving. “Give him salicylic powders every four hours, and don’t worry about the morphine. He needs to rest as free from pain as possible.”
My chin quivered and my words shook when I said, “Thanks, Dr. Benjamin.”
And then he did something that would have shocked me if I hadn’t been so frazzled. He hugged me and whispered, “You know, Daisy, one of these days something like this is going to take him away from you. It might be influenza, or it might be a cold, or it might be pneumonia, but one of these days, one of those traitors will get him. Damned mustard gas.”
I broke down and wept on his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time I’d wept in front of Doc Benjamin, but this time I sobbed like a baby. It was such a relief to be able to do so that day. My stiff upper lip needed a break every now and then, and Dr. Benjamin provided it.
After crying for I don’t know how long, I pulled away, sniffled pathetically, made a futile swipe of my streaming face, and said, “Thanks, Doc.”
“You know I’m available to take care of Billy—and you and the rest of your family—any time, Daisy. I’ve been doctoring you all for years now, and I’m not going to quit on you or Billy, either one.”
I said thanks approximately thirty more times, wiped my eyes as well as I could, prayed that this present problem wouldn’t be the illness that separated Billy from me for all eternity, and returned to our room, where Pa had been holding a damp cloth to Billy’s head.
Pa and I looked at each other, Pa smiled, I tried to do likewise, and I resumed my nursing duties.
Chapter Thirteen
Billy hovered on the brink between life and death for almost two weeks. I scarcely thought about my other obligations as I nursed him. I think Ma called a few of my clients to tell them I’d be unable to keep appointments, but I’m not even sure about that.
I’m also not sure who or how, but someone let Maggiori know why I wasn’t conducting his séance. I know that because we received several lovely bouquets from him. I probably should have thrown them all out, seeing as how they’d come from a murdering gangster, but I didn’t. It was nice to have fresh flowers in the house in February, and I let them stay.
It seemed to me that this would be a great time for the police to raid the joint—when I wasn’t in it, I mean—but they didn’t.
When Sam came to visit Billy, which he did practically every day, I asked him about that.
“No. We’re going to wait until your séance.”
“But why?” I whined. “Why don’t you do it now?”
“We don’t dare. We want you to be a distraction. If we raid the place while Maggiori and all his goons are on the alert, it might get messier than if he’s sitting in the dark in a back room somewhere and occupied with ghosts when we bust in.”
“It didn’t help the last time,” I reminded him, feeling quite bitter.
“Yeah, yeah, but that’s because Frye called just before we got there, and he isn’t going to be able to call the next time.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we’ve got Frye in our sights now. There’s no way he’ll be able to tip those sons of ... um, dogs about another raid.”
“Hmm. I still don’t understand why you can’t raid the place now.”
“Well, we can’t. Stop whining.”
“I’m not whining! Curse you, Sam Rotondo, I hate those people, and they scare me!”
“Don’t worry. When the time comes, the raid will go like clockwork.”
“Great.” Just what I wanted to hear. I was a distraction, and everything would go like clockwork, and they couldn’t raid the joint now because ... well, because. Nuts. I know I sighed, but that was nothing unusual.
Flossie Mosser and Johnny Buckingham came to pay their respects, too. Flossie actually telephoned a couple of days after we’d all attended church together. She wanted to know if I could meet her for lunch again, and she sounded extremely tentative and as if she didn’t think she ought to be bothering me. Unfortunately, under the circumstances, I didn’t think so either, but I tried to let her down gently.
She gasped when I told her about Billy’s illness.
“Oh, my gar,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Can I do anything to help?”
I wiped my forehead and wished people would stop asking me that. I didn’t know what to tell them. However, I really did want to assist Flossie in her attempt to reclaim herself. So I said, “Um, yes. Could you drop by the drug store and get some more salicylic powders? I’m almost out, and Billy needs to take them every four hours. That way, I won’t have to leave his side.” In reality, we had tons of the powders and if I’d thought for a few more minutes, I might have come up with something useful for her to do, but I hadn’t had much sleep for several days, was exhausted and worried, and my brain wasn’t working very fast.
“Sure. I’ll get some now and bring ‘em right over.”
“Thanks, Flossie.”
With a sigh, I went back to my nursing duties.
When Johnny Buckingham came to visit, I was worn to a frazzle and decided I’d just jolly well tell him about Flossie Mosser then since I hadn’t had the opportunity to do so earlier, and ask him to help her. So, even though it wasn’t my story to tell, I snitched on Flossie, from her miserable beginnings to her unfortunate adolescence. I was about to launch into her disreputable connection to Jinx Jenkins and Vicenzo Maggiori when Johnny placed a hand on my arm. “I already know all that, Daisy.”
I’m sure I blinked up at him dumbly. “You do?”
“Sure. I know all abou
t Maggiori and his gang. I know about Miss Mosser and that Jinx character.”
“Oh.”
He chuckled. “Daisy, don’t you understand yet that the very people who frequent speakeasies and drink illegal booze and gamble and break the law are often the very ones we at the Salvation Army see every week. They’re exactly the sorts of people we strive to help into a life that works without all those crutches people use to escape their problems. I learned a long time ago that those kinds of escapes only become problems themselves.”
“Oh.”
He gave me a peck on the cheek, and laughed. “Daisy, you’re a peach. Don’t worry about Miss Mosser. We’ll take care of her.”
“Oh.” Sometimes it took me a while to assimilate stuff that should have been right under my nose the whole time. When I looked at it Johnny’s way, I realized that what he’d just said was the very reason I’d wanted to get Flossie into the Salvation Army church to begin with. It was exactly why Billy had—jokingly, to be sure, but only just—suggested I introduce Flossie to Johnny.
Boy, am I thick at times!
Dr. Benjamin visited at least once a day. I think it was on the fifth day, when Billy’s fever seemed to be dropping, that he told me it looked as if my husband would pull through this one. I bowed my head and thanked both him and God. In the next heartbeat, I damned the Kaiser to hell for all eternity. I’m only human, you know.
“You’ll get through this, Daisy,” Dr. Benjamin said in a low voice. “Life isn’t fair, and you and Billy have been hit with more than your share of burdens pretty early into the game, but you’ll get through them.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I whispered, knowing he was correct but not feeling it at that moment.
And, as I said, Sam visited. I acquit him of trying to drive me crazy, but he did a good job of it anyway. Every day, right before he plopped his hat on his head and opened the front door to leave, he’d ask, “When do you think Billy will be well enough for you to do the séance?”
Because there was an extremely sick invalid in the house, I never once screeched at him. I only said, “I don’t know, Sam,” every time he asked the same stupid question, all the while wishing he’d go away and fall off a mountain somewhere.
But he never did.
Then there were the huge bouquets from Mrs. Kincaid. She called once or twice and sounded unhappy and panicky, but she was sensible enough (what a surprise!) not to push me to visit her while Billy remained in crisis.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this, my dear,” said she.
So am I, thought I. However, I said, “Thank you, Mrs. Kincaid. It’s Billy who’s suffering, not I.” Liar, liar. “It’s not in us to understand God’s will for our lives.” That was the pure-D truth, and it irked me a whole lot, but I never once wavered from my silky spiritualist voice when talking to the idiot woman. “The spirits are with us to guide us through these travails.” And what a load of garbage that was. I had yet to have assistance from any but living human beings during my lifetime. Of course, I was young, but I doubted I was going to be dancing with spirits any time soon.
“As soon as he’s better, I need for you to visit me, Daisy. There’s no rush, of course.”
I didn’t believe her. She sounded desperate. But, darn it, she was always desperate, and Billy was sick, and I wasn’t about to leave his side to read tarot cards or palms or a rounded hunk of crystal for a silly woman with more money than sense.
The neighbors were swell, too. Mrs. Killebrew across the street brought a lovely cake. “For the family, dear. You all must be so worried and harried at the moment.”
We were, and we all appreciated her cake, which was an apple-walnut one and which we ate for breakfast. Whenever we needed supplies, Pa would drive out and get them. He also helped me take care of Billy during the day.
Flossie visited one day about a week into Billy’s illness. I was beginning to believe that he was going to pull through—this time—and had just gone to the sofa in the living room to lie down for a few minutes, when the knock came at the door.
Spike, who didn’t like it that the household was in an uproar and things no longer happened on the schedule he deemed appropriate, naturally went crazy. He ripped out of the bedroom where Billy lay, raced through the kitchen and dining room, and attacked the front door as if it had knocked on itself.
With a sigh, I got up and trudged to the door, scooping the wriggling dog up as I grasped the doorknob. When I opened the door, Flossie thrust a big bouquet of roses at me.
“Here, Daisy. I brung you guys some flowers.”
I know I sighed, but I hope Flossie didn’t notice. My face was hidden behind the hysterical body of my dog. He wasn’t hysterical in a bad way. He liked Flossie and wanted to lick her. “Thanks, Flossie. Come on inside.” What the heck. I wasn’t going to rest much anyway.
“I don’t want to bother you,” she said, hesitating at the door.
I wanted to screech, Why are you here, then? at her, but naturally, I controlled myself. It seemed as if I was always controlling myself. Was controlling oneself what made one human? Was it only beasts that gave in to their initial impulses in various situations? How did one explain people like Jinx Jenkins if that was true?
Nuts. I was too tired to philosophize just then. “Don’t be silly. I’m happy you came. Come on in.”
At last she entered the house, and I could put Spike down and take her flowers. They were truly lovely. Spike instantly began leaping on Flossie. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind.
I said halfheartedly, “Spike, stop that.” He didn’t, of course.
“Oh, I don’t mind him,” said Flossie, bless her. “I love dogs. Wish I could have one.”
“Doesn’t Jinx like dogs?” I asked, faintly curious.
“He don’t like anything,” Flossie said grimly. “But I’m not with Jinx no more.”
This statement surprised me so much, my exhaustion fled for a couple of seconds. “You’re not?”
“Naw. I moved out.”
I wanted to hug her, but I had my hands full of roses. “I’m so glad, Flossie!”
Then she equivocated. “Well ... I’m not really out yet, but I will be as soon as I find a place to live. Someplace that Jinx won’t find me.”
Oh. Well, so much for that faint hope. I decided not to comment on her situation. My own was enough for me to handle at the moment. “Come on into the kitchen, and I’ll find a vase to put these in.”
“I was gonna bring a vase, too, but I couldn’t carry everything.”
“That’s okay. We have lots of pots and things.”
So we went to the kitchen. The bedroom where Billy lay with Pa at his side led off of the kitchen, and Flossie could see into the sickroom. She whispered, “How’s your husband?”
After heaving a huge sigh, I said, “It looks as if he’s getting better. The doctor said he’ll ...” I broke off. I had been going to say that Doc Benjamin had told me Billy would survive this particular round of illness but stopped myself in time. Flossie had her own problems. She didn’t need to worry about ours.
Evidently Flossie didn’t read anything into my aborted comment. “Good. I’m glad. You don’t need no more worries.”
Boy, that was the truth! I rummaged through the cupboard where we kept vases and so forth, and found a white one that would serve well as a container for Flossie’s roses.
“It was so nice of you to bring these, Flossie.”
“Oh, shoot, it wasn’t nothing.”
I entertained the caustic thought that she was correct there. These roses weren’t nothing. They were something, indeed. “Well, they’re really pretty.”
“Thanks. I got ‘em at the Farmer’s Market.”
The Farmer’s Market on Colorado and Walnut was a great place, where you could get just about anything you wanted, from Christmas turkeys and geese to fresh flowers, as Flossie had just demonstrated.
“There,” I said, standing back from the bouquet. I wasn’t very adept a
t flower arranging, but the roses looked pretty in spite of me. “I think I’ll take these in to Billy.”
I didn’t have to. At that moment, Pa emerged from the sickroom. He winked at Flossie. “How-do, Miss Mosser. Did you bring those beautiful flowers?”
Flossie, by-gum, blushed! “Yes, Mr. Gumm. I brought ‘em for Daisy and Billy.”
“Well, that’s just swell. Thank you.” Pa, who was one of the nicest men in the world, then turned to me. “Say, Daisy, why don’t you take a break from your nursing duties and go out to lunch with Miss Mosser here.” Reaching into his trouser pocket, he handed me two dollars. “Here. You need a rest. Why don’t the two of you go down to the Tea Cup Inn or over to the Crown and have a nice little sandwich or something.”
“Oh, Pa, thank you!” I threw my arms around him and gave him a big squeeze. I did need a break.
“Gee, thanks, Mr. Gumm,” said Flossie. “Are you sure you can spare the time, Daisy?”
“I’ll watch the patient,” said Pa, patting me on the back.
“We won’t be gone long,” I promised him. Turning to Flossie, I said, “It’ll just take me a minute to change.”
And I was as good as my word. Tiptoeing so as not to startle Billy, who, thank God, was sleeping, I whipped off my housedress, pulled a one-piece gray woolen dress over my head, put on black shoes, grabbed my black hat, snatched up my black bag and black coat, and was ready to go in not much more than sixty seconds.
“We won’t be gone long, Pa,” I said to my marvelous father, kissing him on the cheek.
“Take your time, sweetheart,” he told me. “I’ll just trot this beautiful bouquet in to Billy.”
If I didn’t have my family, life wouldn’t be worth living.
* * * * *
Flossie and I didn’t go to the Tea Cup Inn or to the Crown. Instead, we went to the Rexall Drug Store near Colorado and Marengo. It was only a drugstore with a luncheon counter, but it was on the main east-west street in Pasadena, and I had a not-so-faint hope that we’d see Johnny Buckingham and company somewhere in the vicinity. After all, in those days you couldn’t turn around without seeing or hearing a Salvation Army band on some street corner or other. We didn’t find him before we settled ourselves onto stools at the lunch counter, but I brought Johnny into the conversation anyway.