At dinner Chrissy chops up her pork chop into small pieces. She scoops the white stuff out of the brown potato skin and then takes her fork to mix everything together until it looks like it’s already been chewed. She does this for two reasons. One, it tastes good. Two, it drives Ann crazy. Chrissy draws the jumble into her mouth. Nobody notices because John has made a mush of his own food and smeared it all over his face. Ann doesn’t think that’s gross. She thinks its funny.
“Don’t you like the jacket of the potato?” her mother asks. “That’s where the vitamins are.”
Chrissy doesn’t think this deserves a response. She drinks her milk, watching as Ace curls himself up on the back porch. “We should get another dog.”
“The last thing we need is another dog.”
“Dad, we should get another dog. I think Ace and Gretel are lonely.”
“Hmm,” he says, but Chrissy can tell that he likes the idea. He loves dogs as much as she does.
No
One day, the Doctor’s Wife comes home to find stickers on each phone that read, “No.”
“What are these for?” she asks the Doctor.
“I want you to learn to say no to people.”
The Doctor’s Wife doesn’t think her husband has any idea how things work.
The Nurse Doll
The Doctor’s Wife is distracted. She sits at the kitchen table, smoking. John is finally asleep. His brain is still sharp but his motor skills are regressing. Ann is trying to ask her something.
She stubs out her cigarette. “What?”
“Am I going to get a nurse doll tomorrow?”
It’s Christmas Eve and for two months preceding the Doctor’s Wife has heard just one thing out of Ann’s mouth. “I thought you wanted a wedding doll,” she says.
“No.” Ann shakes her head. “I always only wanted a nurse doll.”
Once the older kids are in bed, the Doctor’s Wife undresses the doll. It’s about a foot tall. Its face is made of bisque. The doll wears white shoes painted on her feet. Those will do. She holds the wedding dress up and looks at it critically, unsure whether she needs to take it apart at the seams to make a pattern.
The model she has in mind is Clara Barton. She takes down an old sheet from the linen closet then sets up the ironing board in the sewing room, clicking on the iron to heat. She’ll starch the sheet stiff and then cut it up to make the uniform and hat. The hat will be tricky. The Doctor’s Wife is not what she would call artistic. She has some navy blue wool for the cape and some red satin scraps to line the cape with.
At midnight, the Doctor’s Wife looks up to see her husband at the door to the sewing room. “Come to bed. She doesn’t need a nurse doll.”
But you do what you can.
“She’s very spoiled,” is all the Doctor’s Wife can think to say.
Bedtime
Chrissy has to have the bedroom door open and the hallway light on because she’s afraid of the dark. “I can’t sleep with the light off,” she explains to Ann, who by now should know that this is true and yet is still angrily flouncing around in her bed. “Just put the pillow over your head.”
“I get hot and I can still feel the light on my arm.”
“No you can’t.”
“I have a math test tomorrow,” Ann says.
Chrissy can see the justice in this and would like to be generous, but Ann does sleep at night and Chrissy wouldn’t sleep at all if the light is turned off. She’s tried. Even when the hall light is on she can convince herself that there’s a shape in the shadow in the corner. If she fixes her eyes on the shape, it moves, and the movement proves there’s something hunched there. Hunched!
Chrissy climbs out of bed, checking the corner where she saw the figure. There’s nothing there. She shuts the closet door. It’s not clear whether it is better to keep the door open or closed. If it is open you can see inside. If it is closed you can worry about what the door is hiding. Chrissy looks over at Ann. She lies artificially still, her arms rigid against her sides and her eyes screwed shut.
“You’re not sleeping,” Chrissy says. She goes over and repeats in Ann’s ear, “You’re not sleeping.”
Ann leaps up. “You’re dead,” she says. Chrissy runs out of the room. Ann isn’t violent, but she’s mean. She’ll say something about the gap between Chrissy’s front teeth, she’ll make her feel stupid, or she’ll chant “Chrissy Wissy, she drinks whiskey.”
“What’s going on upstairs?” the Doctor’s Wife calls.
“Nothing,” Chrissy yells back down, hoping that Ann won’t contradict her. But Ann apparently only meant to chase her out of the room. What is Bob up to? Chrissy sneaks past John’s room, keeping her back against the wall like a spy until she can press her eye against the crack in the space between the wall and the edge of the door. Bob has his taxidermy kit out. There are dangerous tools involved—big needles and knives—and Chrissy isn’t allowed near the kit. But neither is Bob allowed to have it in his bedroom. It should be down in the basement with the muskrat skins.
“You’re not supposed to have that,” she says, strolling into his room. There’s no need to be surreptitious when Bob is breaking the law.
“Scat rabbit!”
“I’m going to tell.” She sits herself down on the edge of his bed.
Bob is quick. He doesn’t hit, he never hits, but he picks her up, pinning her arms to her side and then throws her on his bed.
Chrissy screams. “I’m going to tell! You have dangerous tools in your bedroom!”
The Doctor’s Wife comes upstairs. “Everybody is going to sleep. Right. Now.”
It’s only then that Chrissy notices that Ann has heartlessly turned off the hall lights.
“Will you turn the light back on?” Chrissy asks her mother.
Click. Ann sighs. Chrissy looks in the corners again. It isn’t a monster she’s afraid of.
It’s the something in the dark that’s scary.
Easter
Ann and Chrissy wear matching dresses that the Doctor’s Wife made, navy blue and white checked cotton, white gloves, white hats, and brand new patent leather shoes. They sit in a pew at the Congregational Church in Everett even though everybody else in the whole world goes to Ebenezer Lutheran in Lake Stevens. Ann is waiting for Chrissy to do something bad to break up the tedium of the service. Chrissy has started to pull at a little string and make a run in her stockings, which is promising.
Bob looks stunned, his hair is slicked back, and his face is kind of pimply. Ann would like to make fun of him, but he looks so uncomfortable stuffed into his new suit, which somehow already appears small in the leg, arm, and trunk. With one hand, the Doctor’s Wife tugs at the suit jacket. With her other arm, she holds on to John. Ann is worried that she is going to be adjusted too, so she scoots away from her mother, closer to Chrissy.
Ann’s tights are bunched at her knees and she picks at the wrinkle, causing her mother to hiss, “Stop that,” which isn’t fair at all since Chrissy has now pulled the run all the way down to her ankle. Finished with her stocking, Chrissy now has her hands folded in front of her chest and she crosses her eyes. She’s trying to make Ann laugh, but Ann refuses. The face works on John, who shrieks with delight. The Doctor’s Wife gets up abruptly to take him outside. Ann wishes she could go outside too. The minister drones on. It’s dark gray outside and over the noise of the sermon Ann can hear rain dumping on the roof. Chrissy tries again, rolling her tongue into a tube shape, quietly humming “Oh What a Beautiful Morning,” through her tongue like a kazoo.
John hangs on to her mother’s neck as they ease back into the pew. Ann would like to be held too, so she scoots closer to the Doctor’s Wife. John blinks down at her and, without thinking it seems, the Doctor’s Wife puts him down on Ann’s lap. Ann is going to turn eleven in July. She’s ten now, practically a grownup, very unlike Chrissy.
After church they have to go to the country club for the Easter egg hunt. Bob has won the past Easters, so this year h
e’s been barred from entering. Ann preferred it when her parents organized Easter egg hunts at home. The Doctor’s Wife would usually write a poem for Ann and the others to read as they searched, the poem giving clues to where the eggs were hidden. For the country club hunt all you have to use is your eyes. The rain has petered out and now the weather is just raw.
The girls take turns carrying John, searching for eggs with him. “I see,” he says, pointing, causing the girls to gallop down the hill toward a stand of pine trees.
“Here,” Ann says, putting his feet on the ground. “You can get it yourself.”
He makes a fat fist around her finger, unsteady on his legs. She lets go of him and he collapses on the muddy ground. He drags himself to a pine tree and tries unsuccessfully to hitch himself up, grunting with the effort.
1960
Dear Petie and JW,
Just a quick note about John. We took him to Seattle last Wednesday, May 25 and spent all morning at a pediatrician’s and all afternoon at the neurologist.
Your daughter typed a rough copy of the neurologists reports to the other doctor, which is enclosed. John had about the most complete exam by both of them that you could have imagined. Probing, pinching, blood tests, x-rays, even an electro-encephalographic study.
Their conclusion is that everything is normal and that he just doesn’t walk yet. They think everything will be all right. We feel better and are hoping every day now. He gets around in his Taylor Tot much better already and we bought him a scooter. He is just as sweet as ever and cuter as you will see this summer. He has a squint in the left eye, which we are going to take him to an eye specialist about this summer.
We would like you to come anytime. We will be gone for two weeks approximately, to take the kids to California. John will stay at home.
I’m going to fly to Miami June 12 and return June 19 to the AMA convention. Will see my brother and family there.
Write Soon,
RFH
Broken Bones
They feel it’s important not to deprive the older kids of trips to educational places, so they’ve left John behind with Hazel Adelsheim while they take the rest of the kids to San Francisco. A lady is still expected to wear white gloves in San Francisco and the Doctor’s Wife is also wearing heels, high but not spiky, and a new hat. She’s meeting the rest of the family in Union Square after an unsuccessful trip to I. Magnin. It’s nearly impossible to find a dress that looks remotely attractive.
While crossing Powell Street, the heel of her right shoe wedges in the trolley track, and down she goes, breaking her fall with her hands.
“I hurt my arm,” the Doctor’s Wife tells her husband when she meets up with him and the kids.
He takes a look at it, grunting. “Well, let’s go get something to eat.”
“But I hurt my arm.”
“The kids are hungry.”
“Yes, dear,” the Doctor’s Wife says ironically.
In a way, the Doctor is right, it’ll take a long time to be attended to in the emergency room and the kids will get cranky if they haven’t eaten. This is the Doctor’s way of thinking: that you have to take care of everybody else’s bodily desires before you treat the wounded. Nevertheless, the Doctor’s Wife’s arm throbs and she feels extremely queasy.
They take a taxi to a restaurant. “This place looks fine,” the Doctor says, running his eyes over the silverware set on the tables. They get a booth. The Doctor’s Wife is not hungry even a bit, but she orders broiled Petrale sole. The kids order fish and chips. The Doctor orders the Captain’s plate, and when the food comes, nobody eats but the Doctor.
Home
On Sunday afternoons, it’s Ann’s job to rub John’s back. He lies on the couch, his fists closed tight and limbs stiff. John has trouble breathing. He can’t talk and he’s going blind.
What’s it like to go blind? The squint in his right eye is worse. That eye barely opens and the other one doesn’t seem to be able to make out when Ann or Chrissy make a funny face.
While Ann rubs, Chrissy puts LPs on the record player, a large piece of furniture that has speakers integrated into the cabinet. Chrissy presses a button and the record drops down, the needle hits.
“Pianissimo, girls,” the Doctor’s Wife says, poking her head in from the kitchen.
Ann wishes her mother would just leave them alone. John doesn’t mind the music. His head turns to follow her around and she thinks that he would smile if he could. These are good songs. The girls listen to musicals: South Pacific, Camelot, Oklahoma. The Sound of Music plays now. Ann has memorized all the words, and so has Chrissy. They sing along, but not too loudly. Ann continues to pat as she’s been instructed.
School
Cathy Gunderson runs up the steps just as the bus gets ready to pull away form the Sandy Beach Drive stop. Cathy’s coat is unbuttoned and her hair uncombed. Ann and Sue Berg share significant looks and then wait until Cathy has passed before they start talking again.
“It’s too bad for her,” Sue whispers.
The best part of school this year is that the fifth graders of Lake Stevens get to go to their very own school house, a little clapboard-covered building. Pioneer times are Ann’s favorite part of Washington State history, and she’s glad she gets to study pioneers in a real old schoolhouse that probably had pioneers as students. Mrs. Zuckerman has even promised to make hasty pudding for the class. Ann is wearing an itchy wool dress and ugly saddle shoes, but she imagines herself in cool calico and lace-up boots.
Glenwood School has an old bell that each student gets to pull in turn. Sue has already had a chance to pull the bell, but that’s because her last name starts with B. Hagen comes after Gunderson. Cathy Gunderson was supposed to ring the bell first, but she got caught chewing gum. Mrs. Zuckerman made her go spit it out in the trash can in front of the whole class, and then Mrs. Zuckerman said that Cathy would have to move to the end of the bell ringing list, which means Ann’s up next. It’s a bit of a scandal.
“The bell is pretty heavy, so you have to put your weight into it,” Sue whispers with the authority of experience. Ann doesn’t need Sue to tell her what it’ll be like. She can imagine exactly how it will feel, her hands closing around the thick, rough rope, the way she’ll brace her legs against the floorboards and lean her torso back.
The bus twists its way around the lake along the Davies Road. After it crosses the bridge over the creek, it turns up the hill and pulls in front of the school. Glenwood School has only three rooms, two classrooms and a room with a stage in it that’s used as a cafeteria and auditorium. When it rains—and it rains a lot—the kids stay inside the room with the stage for lunch and recess. They aren’t allowed to run around like they normally do. They have to participate in planned activities, like dancing. Mrs. Zuckerman has taught them the hora and how to square dance. According to Mrs. Zuckerman, everybody needs to know how to dance, but Ann isn’t so sure about that.
Today after lunch—rain, but bingo instead of dancing—they return to the classroom to sit and listen to the Standard School Broadcast. A pianist plays a very difficult sounding Rachmaninoff piece. Ann would like to play Rachmaninoff someday. She taps her fingers on her desk like it’s a keyboard, pretending that her left hand is making the big chords and her right is carrying the melody. Sometimes she has to be forced to practice the piano by her mother instead of going right to the piano herself every day, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t also love playing. A few of the other kids in the class are yawning. Sue Berg is busy drawing a dog and Jimmy Halverson has put his head down on the desk. He’d better not let Mrs. Zuckerman catch him doing that.
The Standard School Broadcast ends and it’s time for Washington State history. The class starts a unit about Marcus and Narcissa Whitman. Mrs. Zuckerman tells the class to silently read the chapter. Ann likes the reading-to-herself part of the school day the best. The gist of the history chapter is that the Whitmans traveled west in 1836, settling in Walla Walla so that they could conver
t the Indians to Christianity. In 1847 the Whitmans and the other missionaries were massacred by the natives they were trying to convert. Ann is fairly positive that the word massacred means that the Whitmans were scalped. Her head pricks at the idea of cold metal slicing skin from skull. This is not how she likes to picture pioneer life, and she shuts the history book with distaste.
She scans the room. Mrs. Zuckerman is writing questions on the board, Sue is reading, frowning, and Jimmy is folding a paper airplane. When she looks to the back of the room, her eyes lock with Cathy Gunderson, who has apparently been glaring at her. Ann feels herself start to blush. She faces the front of the room, still feeling Cathy’s look burning into the back of her head. It wasn’t Ann’s fault that Cathy chewed gum and got in trouble for it. But Ann doesn’t like to feel as though she’s hurt anybody’s feelings.
Next, it’s time for Language Arts. Mrs. Zuckerman makes an announcement that during the month of October there will be a competition to see who can memorize the most poems. “To receive points you need to recite the poem in front of the class exactly as it is printed on the page.”
“What do you get if you win?” asks Sue Berg.
“The person who wins will be the valedictorian.” There is a blank silence. “Does anybody know what a valedictorian is?” Mrs. Zuckerman asks. No, nobody does. Ann thinks it sounds medical.
“A valedictorian is the person who has the highest grade in the class—usually the word refers to the person in high school or college who has the best grades. I was making a joke just now,” Mrs. Zuckerman says.
This is a poor sort of a joke if it is a joke at all, and nobody laughs. Ann has the highest grades in her class now, and in eighth grade, when high school starts and there are periods with different teachers, she’ll make sure she gets the highest grades in all of those classes too. It doesn’t sound that difficult to her. All it takes is hard work and she is good at that. So it’s settled, she will be the valedictorian of both the poem memorizing contest and of her high school.
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