Comfort

by Joyce Moyer Hostetter

  I could hardly believe that Mr. Botts had been so sick when he arrived. “Did you feel bad at first?” I asked. “Did you feel out of place, I mean?”

  “In some ways I did. The tourists resented us because they were here first. Many of them were afraid of polio even though we no longer had it. And it was uncomfortable being stared at. But I was more afraid of giving up the ghost, as people thought I was about to do.”

  Mr. Botts tapped the arm of his wheelchair like he was keeping time to a slow song playing in his head. His soft tapping and the sounds of birds and the shushing of the pines were all I heard for a few minutes.

  Finally he spoke again. “Everyone in life has a handicap, Ann Fay. But the struggle to overcome it is worthwhile.”

  I thought about that. About how far Mr. Botts had come. And how far I still had to go. By this time I knew I could overcome my polio handicap. But I didn’t have any idea how I could fix my falling-apart family. Still, I would do whatever I could—if someone would just tell me what that was.

  Mr. Botts went back to his story. “So my health improved. Mr. Roosevelt bought the resort and decided tourists and polios didn’t mix well. So he sent the tourists away and turned it into a place where polios could really live again.”

  “Did you ever go home?” I asked. I wondered if he tried going back to the opera.

  “Home?” Mr. Botts took in a slow, deep breath. “The smell of these pines is home,” he said. “I expect to die right here taking one last whiff of pine needles on my way out.”

  I took a deep breath too and knew how he felt. But I also smelled the sweetness of wisteria blossoms. And something in me felt sad and pulled apart.

  25

  Gavin

  March 1946

  “Someone’s sweet on – you, Ann Fay.” Ed Frogge handed me an envelope with only my name on the outside.

  I didn’t recognize the handwriting. I looked at Ed. His bow tie was just a little bit crooked and his smile was kind of off balance too. There was mischief in his eyes. “What is it?” I asked him.

  “Go ahead. See for yourself.”

  I looked in the envelope. There was another, fancier one inside. It had four stamps on it and each one had a drawing of Franklin Roosevelt with the Little White House in the background. And the envelope had his picture too.

  I know my mouth fell open with the surprise of it. “Where did this come from?”

  The mischief in Ed’s eyes was really acting up now. “State secret,” he said.

  I looked all over the envelope, thinking I might find a name. But there wasn’t any.

  So now I had two envelopes and no letter. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  Ed laughed. “If I were you – I’d put it in a safety – deposit box. See that?” He pointed to some words stamped on the envelope:

  FIRST DAY OF ISSUE

  AUG 24

  1945

  “And notice the Warm Springs – postmark with the date. Roosevelt himself would – hang on to that. He was a stamp collector – you know.”

  Really? Why hadn’t Sam the Encyclopedia Man told me that? Who was giving me the stamps? And why?

  Ed could see I was confused. “I was told it was a – late valentine,” he explained.

  “Valentine? From who?”

  Ed grinned and straightened his bow tie. “As Mrs. Trotter – would say, ‘We shall see – what we shall see…’”

  I tucked the envelopes in my pocket and didn’t show them to anyone. Not at first, that is. But I knew if anyone could find out who gave me those stamps, it was Suzanne. That girl got around campus like a box of chocolates.

  So the next time she came I hunted her down in the library. “I need a detective,” I said.

  I showed Suzanne the stamps. But first I swore her to secrecy. The minute she realized what I wanted, her big brown eyes started swing-dancing. But she squinted at me, put on her deep detective voice, and held out her hand. “I’ll need the evidence.”

  I hugged them to me. I couldn’t believe she thought I would hand them over. “I can’t let you take these.”

  “Then maybe you don’t want to know where they came from.” Suzanne knew how to take charge of a situation.

  “Know who you remind me of?” I asked. “My friend Peggy Sue. If she wants something, she finds a way to get it.”

  Suzanne held out the Nancy Drew book she was reading. “Put them in here,” she ordered. “I’ll guard them with my life. And I’ll bring them back to you in two days.”

  And sure enough! On Sunday, Suzanne showed up just as I was going into the dining room for supper. She took the stamps out of the book. “Put these in your pocket before Gavin comes by,” she said.

  “Gavin?”

  “He’s your Romeo.”

  “Are you sure?” I looked around to see who was watching. “How do you know?” I whispered.

  “I showed him the stamps.”

  “You did not!” This time I forgot to whisper.

  “I did. I told him you didn’t care anything about them, so you gave them to me. The look on his face was all I the proof I needed.”

  “You tricked him?”

  “Isn’t that what detectives do?”

  “I feel terrible.”

  “Well, don’t. The boy likes you and now he knows you like him too.”

  “Suzanne!” I screeched her name so loud it’s a wonder every person in the building didn’t stop to listen.

  She laughed so hard I thought she’d wet herself. I laughed too. But I didn’t think it was that funny. Finally she said, “I’m just kidding. But he was sure relieved to know you didn’t give them away. And he was tickled you were so curious.”

  “Just think,” I said. “All this time, I thought Olivia was making things up about Gavin and me.”

  “She probably was,” said Suzanne. “After all, if Gavin wanted to keep a secret he wouldn’t tell her. But Olivia has a nose for romance, so she figured it out.”

  At dinner I didn’t look once in Gavin’s direction. Instead I acted really interested in Sam’s conversation about the assassination of President William McKinley—way back in 1901. Of course Sam knew every little detail about where the president was at the time and how long the assassin waited in line to shake his hand. Once his story cranked up, Sam actually kept my attention.

  But of course I couldn’t avoid Gavin forever. He stopped me on the way out of the dining room. “How about a game of table tennis?” he asked. Gavin had table tennis at home, so he was a good player, one of the best wheelchair players at Warm Springs. And I was terrible. I stuttered around a little, trying to get out of it. But he grabbed my arm and said, “You owe me a big favor.”

  I was afraid to look at him, but I did anyway. His dimples were deep and adorable. “I—I do?”

  “Didn’t you hire Nancy Drew to come after me?”

  “I didn’t hire anyone. And I had nothing to do with Suzanne tricking you.”

  “Well, either way. I already reserved the next game for you and me.”

  I figured there was nothing to do but make a fool of myself. While we waited for the other players to finish, Gavin told me about his stamp collection. “That envelope I gave you is called a First Day Cover. It makes stamps more valuable.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say! Don’t you want the stamps for yourself?”

  “I’m a collector,” he said. “I can get more. Those stamps aren’t like seeing the Little White House in person, but I figured they were the next best thing. My father’s trying to pull some strings, though. If it works out, we’ll get a tour.”

  “Your father could do that?” I just couldn’t imagine it.

  “Probably not. But he’s trying. He donates money to Warm Springs, so maybe. With any luck, we can at least see the outside. But it’s heavily guarded, you know. You will go with us, won’t you, Ann Fay?”

  Had Gavin been talking to his parents about me? I wasn’t about to ask. I just said, “I wouldn’t miss that for any
thing in the world.”

  I didn’t turn down the table tennis game, either. I sat in a wheelchair to play so I wouldn’t throw myself off balance while trying to return the ball. I didn’t give Gavin many good hits. But I gave him plenty to laugh about. And I gave our friends plenty of exercise going after my stray balls.

  I decided it wasn’t so bad, really—making a fool of myself with somebody who actually liked me.

  I was already dreaming about more fun and games with Gavin. Then I looked up and saw someone I never expected to see in Warm Springs, Georgia. It took a few seconds for it to dawn on me exactly who I was seeing. Was I imagining things? Or was Junior Bledsoe actually standing there watching me?

  26

  Disbelief

  March 1946

  “Junior Bledsoe!” I said. “What in the wide world are you doing here?”

  Junior looked a little confused. The first words out of his mouth were, “Ann Fay, I thought you was learning to walk. What are you doing in that thing?”

  He wanted to know what I was doing. I wanted to know what he was doing. We just stared at each other and waited for who knows what to come along and make sense of this whole thing.

  Then I heard Gavin’s voice. “Thanks for the game, Ann Fay.” And off he rolled.

  “Who was that?” asked Junior.

  “Oh, just somebody,” I said. “He lives here too. Like all these people.” I tried to sound as offhand about it as I could. So Junior wouldn’t think that me playing table tennis with a boy meant something.

  But he seemed more concerned about me being in a wheelchair than who I was with. “Are you getting better or not?” he asked.

  I realized he was worried. “Stop fretting,” I said. “This isn’t my chair. I just borrowed it. Wanna see me walk?” Then I showed him how I could walk a short way without canes. At the end I grabbed on to Junior and he steadied me.

  “Ann Fay! That’s good. Really good! You’re actually walking.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I reckon I am.” I sat back down in the wheelchair to catch my breath. “So why did you come, Junior? Is everything okay at home?”

  “Can we sit someplace?”

  “Well, sure.” I wheeled my chair toward the fountain between Georgia Hall and the colonnade. There was an iron bench under a tree and we went there. I didn’t want to be in the wheelchair anymore, so I moved to the bench beside Junior.

  He looked around. “This place is dandy. Do you really live here?”

  I pointed to Kress Hall. “That’s my dormitory there. I have a roommate and we have our own bathroom. Just for the two of us. What do you think of that?”

  “I think you probably won’t say it’s finer in North Carolina. That’s what I think. I hope you’re not getting too big for your britches.”

  “Is that what you came here to talk about? How’s everything back home?”

  “Peggy Sue is the same as always. And my momma too.”

  “And my family?”

  “The girls are growing like kudzu.”

  Junior had come to Georgia for a reason, but now he was circling the block a few times before he got around to telling me what it was. I grabbed his shirtsleeve. “And Momma? Daddy?”

  Junior shuffled his feet a little. And then he pulled his pocketknife out, opened it up, and started cleaning his fingernails. “Your daddy’s still working.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  He didn’t say anything more, just folded his knife and put it away. He sat there staring at his brown shoes. He reached down and wiped some dirt off the tips. And for some reason I knew it was too early to feel relieved.

  “Junior, you didn’t drive all the way down here to tell me my daddy is working.”

  “Well, Ann Fay, something just don’t seem right.”

  “What do you mean? Like what?”

  Junior looked around the quad. “Don’t you want to show me around this place?” He pointed toward the pool. “What’s that fancy building down there?”

  I twisted his sleeve. “Just tell me what you come here for.”

  “Well, okay then.” Suddenly the words came out of Junior in a big rush. “Your momma and daddy wasn’t at church last Sunday and we didn’t hear nothing out of them all week. So this morning before church I went by your house to check on them. I’m sure your momma wouldn’t have shown her face if I hadn’t seen her in the yard before she could get back inside.”

  “Why on earth wouldn’t my momma want to see you, Junior?”

  “I don’t think she wanted me to see her.”

  “But why?”

  “On account of—on account of—Ann Fay, she had a black eye. It looked like it’s been there for a while, which is probably why they didn’t make it to church on Sunday.”

  “A black eye? What happened?”

  Junior looked at me then. “What do you think happened?” he said. Like he knew the answer but was giving me a quiz to see if I could come up with it. The only reason I could think of for anyone to have a black eye was if someone else hit him. Or her.

  And then all of a sudden I realized what Junior was saying. Or not saying.

  “Junior Bledsoe, what are you trying to say?” I balled up my fist and socked him in the arm. “Don’t you even think it!”

  Junior pulled away from me, but I socked him again.

  “My daddy is not that kind of person! He would never hit my momma! Do you hear me, Junior Bledsoe?”

  I pounded on his arm until he turned and grabbed my fist and held it away from him. That just made me madder.

  I tried to twist out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let me go. I could feel myself starting to cry. “My daddy is a good man. He would not hit anybody, Junior, and you know it. My momma fell or something. My daddy is a good man!” Right then I hated Junior Bledsoe.

  “Well, Ann Fay,” he said, “the way I see it, you’re a good person too, but you’re beating on me. It don’t change who you are. It’s just how you feel that’s making you hit me.”

  That sure stopped me cold. I didn’t hit Junior again or try to get loose from him. I just sat there with the smell of pine trees and wisteria in the air and knew that the beauty of Warm Springs was slipping away. It was a fairy tale after all.

  On the outside of this campus, up the road from this enchanted forest, was a real world of dirt and tears. And now it was pushing in on me.

  Junior held me while I cried. “Your momma has been talking to mine. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, Ann Fay.”

  My mind just couldn’t take it in. I kept seeing my daddy coming into the kitchen and taking Momma into his arms—right when she was in the middle of baking pies. Or they’d be on the front porch and she’d be fixing to sit in her favorite rocking chair, but he’d pull her onto his lap instead.

  I almost started arguing with Junior all over again. But then, for some reason, the sighing of the pine trees reminded me of my momma. So I didn’t. I just grabbed on to my little wooden Comfort and listened.

  “I didn’t want to tell you. But I knew you’d never forgive me if I let it go on.”

  Junior was right, of course—he had to tell me. But what could I do about it? Especially from down here in Warm Springs. Then it hit me. Junior hadn’t come to tell me. He had come to get me.

  I could’ve hit him again. But I didn’t. “No!” I said. “I can’t leave here. You can’t make me go, Junior.”

  He didn’t argue with me. He just squeezed my hand and waited. I sat there on that cold bench and all of a sudden I started shivering. The Georgia sun had disappeared off to the west someplace. And the breeze felt chilly.

  I wanted in the worst way to slide into the warm water down at the pool. To think about some tiny muscles that I didn’t know I had before I got to Warm Springs. To count while I exercised. To focus on getting strong so I could face the real world again.

  I wasn’t strong enough yet. I had only learned to take a few baby steps. And now I was supposed to jump up and run home? I just d
idn’t think I could do it. I sat there for a long time and stared at the water shooting up from the fountain.

  After a while people started coming out of Georgia Hall—rolling past us with their wheelchairs, calling out to each other about who was going to play bridge that night, laughing over one thing or another. Across the yard I heard Olivia calling to Gavin, “I’ll let you know when I find out.” I figured they were talking about me, wondering who Junior was and why was I crying.

  That’s when I realized I couldn’t send Junior home and go back to playing rook and table tennis with my friends. Warm Springs was a shiny bubble that had already been popped.

  “I have to talk to Mr. Botts,” I said. I reached for the wheelchair and got myself into it. Junior started pushing me and I let him. The only thing I did was point the way to Mr. Botts’s office. But it was Sunday, so of course he wasn’t in. I had to find someone who could get a message to him.

  It wasn’t long until he was right there in front of me. His wheelchair was so close our toes were almost touching. I didn’t even think about introducing him to Junior.

  “I have to leave,” I said.

  Mr. Botts leaned forward and looked into my face. “What’s going on?”

  But I couldn’t tell him the truth. It was too hard for me to believe it, and I wasn’t going to go telling stories about something I hadn’t seen with my own two eyes.

  “My momma needs me,” was all I could say.

  “You should get some sleep before making any decisions,” said Mr. Botts. “Things will look different in the morning.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” I said. “If we leave now, we can be there by morning.”

  “You want to leave right now?”

  Of course I didn’t. Sometimes I thought I never wanted to leave. I felt safe at Warm Springs. Like being at a second home. But then again, how could such a big fine place be my home?

  But I didn’t tell Mr. Botts what I was thinking. I just said, “I have to go pack.”