Dr. Hayd glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure you didn’t bump into a door or trip on a toy a child carelessly left on the bottom stair?”
“Quite sure.” She sat up straighter and lifted her chin, irritated as much by the meekness in her voice as by his skepticism. “The injuries to my face you can see for yourself. I also have a cut on my head here—” She parted her long black hair. “And on my right side—I feel a sharp pain here whenever I draw a breath.”
“Hmm.” The doctor drew closer, inspected her face, examined her head, looked intently into her eyes one at a time, and pressed a stethoscope to her back and listened carefully as she breathed deeply in and out. “He seems like a good enough fellow. What did you do to provoke him?”
After a moment of bewilderment, Rosa realized the doctor had mistaken Lars for her husband. Stifling her instinct to defend him, she swallowed hard and said, “Whatever it was, I won’t do it again.”
“I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson. It’s a pity to see bruises on such a lovely face.” Straightening, the doctor frowned, nodded thoughtfully, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, you’ll need a few stitches for the laceration in your scalp, but the scar won’t be too visible thanks to your hair. I won’t have to trim away any of those pretty locks to sew you up, so don’t you worry about that. Afterward Sister Mary can clean and bandage the other cuts, which should heal fine on their own if you keep them properly dressed.” He opened the door and spoke quietly to someone unseen outside before turning back to her. “Now for the bad news: It seems you have a fractured rib, but it’s merely cracked, not broken clean through. I’ll send you home with a rib belt, which you should wear regularly for six weeks, even while sleeping. Do you think you can remember my instructions or shall I repeat them to your husband?”
Humiliated, Rosa felt her eyes pricking with hot, angry tears, but she refused to let them fall. “There’s no need. I can remember.”
“That’s a good girl.”
At that moment, the plump nun returned carrying what appeared to be a broad elastic band and a small white box. “How are we?” she asked briskly, and Rosa murmured a vague reply. Sister Mary assisted the doctor as he cleaned the laceration, dabbed her scalp with ointment, and sewed the wound shut. Rosa could manage only a nod as Dr. Hayd bade her farewell, instructed Sister Mary to tend to the rest of her cuts, and left the room.
Sister Mary’s hands felt cool and dry against Rosa’s flushed skin as she gently cleaned her wounds. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” When Rosa made a scoffing sound and glanced toward the door, the nun set down the gauze and antiseptic, cupped Rosa’s chin with her hand, and tilted her face upward so their eyes met. “I know what Dr. Hayd can be like. You mustn’t let his thoughtless words trouble you.”
Unbidden, a tear slid down Rosa’s cheek.
“Marriage is a holy sacrament,” said Sister Mary, “but I cannot imagine that our loving God would want you and those precious children to remain under the same roof as a man who would treat you so cruelly.”
Rosa pressed her lips together to hold back a sob.
Sister Mary lowered her voice. “One of my sisters can keep your husband occupied with paperwork and I can bring the children to meet you at the back door. The parish house is nearby, and you’ll find sanctuary there until you can find someplace safe to stay. Do you have anyone who can take you in—a mother, a sister, a friend, perhaps?”
“Oh, no, no,” exclaimed Rosa. “The man waiting for me—he’s not the one who did this. He’s not my husband. He’s—a very dear friend. I’ve known him since I was child. He would never—”
Abruptly she stopped speaking. In her haste to defend Lars, she might reveal too much. Quickly she climbed down from the examination table, but the plump nun stood between her and the door, and she was studying Rosa’s face carefully. “Are you sure, my child?”
“Absolutely sure.” Surrounded by uncertainty though she was, she knew Lars would never hurt her—not intentionally, not again.
Sister Mary hesitated for a moment, but she let the matter drop. She explained how to wear the rib belt and how long to use it, and she advised Rosa to return in six weeks, sooner if she developed a fever or had trouble breathing, or if her pain worsened. “You may follow up with your own physician if you prefer,” she added, and Rosa knew the kindhearted nun did not expect to see her again.
Sister Mary led her upstairs to the children’s ward, where Marta and Lupita sat alone in the waiting room. “The nurse took Ana and Miguel in there,” Marta said, breaking off the story she had been telling her younger sister to point down the hallway to the second door on the left. “Mr. Jorgensen went with them, but he told us to stay here.”
Rosa quickly thanked her and hurried to join the others, her heart sinking when one glance over her shoulder told her that although Sister Mary had headed back toward the stairwell, she was still close enough to have heard Lars’s name.
When Rosa entered the examination room, Lars and a younger, dark-haired man in a white coat broke off their conversation. “Mrs. Ottesen?” the man greeted her, and when he turned her way, she saw that he bore his weight on crutches and his right pant leg was sewn up at the knee.
She almost shook her head at his mistake, but a warning look from Lars stopped her just in time. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m Mrs. Ottesen.”
“No,” said Miguel, sitting cross-legged on the examination table beside Ana. “She’s Mamá.” When Ana nudged him, he thrust out his lower lip at her. “Stop it.”
The man smiled, but he seemed taken aback by Rosa’s appearance. “I’m Dr. Russell. Your husband mentioned that you had an accident on the farm.”
Involuntarily, Rosa’s hand flew to her bruised face. “Yes, but I’m going to be fine.” She smiled at Ana and Miguel, praying they wouldn’t contradict her.
“Then are you feeling up to a few questions? Your husband’s told me about the children’s affliction, but as the children’s mother, you’re probably more intimately aware of their symptoms.”
“Of course,” said Rosa. “Anything.”
“Maybe Ana and Miguel should wait outside,” said Lars, with a look that told Rosa he knew she would hesitate to tell the whole truth in their hearing. “Marta can keep an eye on them.”
Rosa helped the children down from the examination table and asked Ana to take Miguel into the waiting room. After they were safely out of earshot, the long, painful tale of her children’s mysterious illness poured out of her. She withheld nothing except for particular details that would betray the fiction Lars had invented to conceal their identities. Dr. Russell listened intently, nodding from time to time, prompting her with questions about the children’s diet and the onset of their symptoms, their appearance, their growth, everything. When she finished, she felt as drained as if her heart had been wrung dry, but also, for the first time, she felt a small spark of hope. No other doctor had ever listened so long and so carefully when she spoke of the children, or with such determination to glean every relevant detail, no matter how minute.
But when Dr. Russell asked her to sit down, she braced herself for the worst. “Your children are suffering from malnutrition,” he said simply.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “They have plenty to eat.”
“Yes, they have food, but the chronic diarrhea and vomiting prevent them from taking any nourishment from it,” he explained. “Their abdomens extended from gas, their general pallor and weakness, their poor growth—these are symptoms I would expect to see in children who have an inadequate diet due to poverty and neglect. As I’ve seen, however, your other two daughters seem perfectly robust and healthy, and presumably they enjoy the same nutritious meals as their siblings.”
“They do,” said Rosa.
Dr. Russell frowned thoughtfully. “You say Ana and Miguel have no trouble keeping down tortillas, rice, and oranges.”
“Corn tortillas,” Rosa clarified. “Flour tortillas don’t agree with the
m. I haven’t made those in years.”
“Then I encourage you to feed them only tortillas, rice, and oranges until we get to the bottom of this,” said Dr. Russell. “I realize that doesn’t sound like a very well-balanced diet, but your most important duty now is to get some nutritious food into them.”
“Of course.” Rosa would have agreed to feed them bread and water ten times a day if Dr. Russell thought it might save them.
“When I was in the service, I worked with a physician who once described seeing a similar affliction in children in Chicago.” Balancing on his crutches, Dr. Russell fell silent, thinking. “We lost touch after I was wounded and sent home, but I believe he’s with Stanford University now.”
“Could you consult him?” asked Lars.
“Certainly. It could take some time to verify his whereabouts and get in touch with him, but once we do, he may very well be able to advise me on how to help your children.”
Dizzying relief washed over Rosa, but the doctor’s unexpected words of hope did not lessen her sense of urgency. “Could you please try to find him now?”
“Of course, the moment I’ve finished my rounds.”
“Could you find him now, please?” asked Rosa, more insistently. “I realize you have other patients who need your care, but I’ve already lost four children, and if I lose Ana and Miguel while I’m waiting to hear from a doctor you knew in wartime nearly a decade ago, I won’t be able to bear it.” And if his former colleague could not help them, Rosa needed to know that too, so she could seek help elsewhere, so she did not let her hopes lift her up so high she would not survive the plummet back to earth.
“Very well, Mrs. Ottesen,” Dr. Russell said. “If you and Mr. Ottesen would care to join your children outside, I’ll see what I can do.”
Lars’s strong right arm steadied her as they walked back to the waiting room, where Marta was entertaining the younger children with a story about a bold prince and three valiant princesses who escaped the clutches of an evil sorcerer by transforming themselves into bears. Rosa cuddled Miguel on her lap and held Ana’s hand as she waited for Dr. Russell to return.
The minutes passed with excruciating slowness, but at last the doctor appeared in the corridor, smiling as he swung toward them on his crutches. “Dr. Reynolds is with Stanford Hospital in San Francisco,” he said. “He was in a lecture when I telephoned, so I had to leave a message with his secretary and wait for him to call back. Not only did he recall the cases in Chicago he had told me about years ago, but he’s also currently treating several children afflicted with the same illness.” His smile broadened. “He’s observed excellent responses to a regimen created by a doctor in New York. He’s going to tell me more about it, and I’ll see if we can put your children on a similar course of treatment.”
Rosa hardly dared believe what she was hearing. “There’s a cure?”
“I don’t know if it’s fair to call it a cure when we haven’t even identified the condition, but it does seem to be an effective treatment.” Dr. Russell took a folded piece of white paper from his pocket and handed it to Lars. “Dr. Reynolds’s credentials, as well as his address and phone number, should you have any concerns about his qualifications.”
Rosa hadn’t any; his status with the university hospital was enough to impress her, and she had no other options. “When can we begin treatment?”
“I’ll need time to consult with Dr. Reynolds and to arrange the regimen. I think it would be reasonable for us to schedule an appointment a week from tomorrow.”
Rosa’s heart sank. She had hoped they could begin the next morning. With hopes of a cure within reach, how could she wait a week? How would she prepare rice and tortillas in the small rented room at the Radcliffe Hotel? How long would they need to remain in Oxnard while Ana and Miguel underwent treatment? What about school for Marta and Lupita? What about John, and the police, and the bootleggers, and anyone else who might be seeking them?
As they thanked Dr. Russell and left the children’s ward, Rosa’s mind worked furiously. “There must be something more we can do,” she said to Lars, falling behind the girls as they led the way downstairs. “I can’t bear to delay a week if there’s a treatment that could help them now.” Miguel was so light in her arms. Sometimes she felt that if she did not cling fiercely to him, he would drift free of her embrace, float away, and disappear.
Lars looked as if he were about to reply, but when they reached the lobby, he suddenly stopped short. “Girls,” he called in an urgent undertone, and when they turned to look at him, he beckoned them to hurry back. Quickly he steered them down an adjacent corridor and around a corner. “Wait here.” He ducked back the way they had come and returned a moment later. “We have to find another way out.”
“Why?” Rosa imagined John pacing in front of the nurses’ station. “Who’s out there?”
“My brother, his wife, and Elizabeth.” Quickly Lars looked up and down the branching corridor and led them off down the right-hand passage. “This must be where they brought Henry after he was shot.”
“How did Elizabeth look?” Rosa asked, hastening after him, placing a hand on Lupita’s shoulder to urge her forward more quickly.
“Upset, dazed—I only caught a glimpse of her, not enough for me to guess how Henry might be doing.” Lars glanced down a hallway branching off to the left, and after a moment’s hesitation, he led them down it. “Mary Katherine had her arm around her. She might have been crying. Oscar was speaking with a doctor.”
Rosa held Miguel more tightly and quickened her pace. At the end of the corridor, she spotted a door with a small window through which bright sunlight streamed. Lars and the children saw it too, and as they raced toward it they narrowly avoided running into a man in a wheelchair emerging unexpectedly from a doorway. The nurse attending him shouted warnings after them, but they took no heed, and moments later, Lars shoved open the door and closed it behind them, silencing the scolding voice.
“Why,” asked Lupita, catching her breath, “are we running from Mrs. Nelson? I like her.”
“I should have thought of this,” Lars berated himself as they hurried around the back of the hospital to the street corner, where they followed the sidewalk to the front parking lot. “I knew they’d taken Henry to the hospital, and of course St. John’s was the best choice for them just as it was for us.”
“It’s all right,” Rosa said. They reached Lars’s car, climbed in, and drove off as soon as everyone was seated. “They didn’t see us.”
“They didn’t this time,” said Lars. “Next week we might not be so lucky. It’s a miracle Henry survived that gunshot wound at all, and thank God he did, but we have to assume he won’t be well enough to be discharged before we return to start the children’s treatment. It won’t be easy to sneak in and out of the hospital unnoticed.”
You don’t have to, Rosa almost said as he turned the car south onto F Street. Rosa must; she was their mother. Lars could—and should—return home to his family. He had seen Rosa and the children safely from the Salto Canyon to Oxnard, but she could not impose upon his kindness much longer.
When they turned east on Fifth Street, Rosa spotted a Chinese restaurant and asked Lars to stop. She had never eaten Chinese food before, but she knew they served plain white rice with their meals and that was good enough for her. While she puzzled over the menu, Lars stepped up to the counter and ordered two chicken dishes and one beef as if they were old favorites, but when or how he might have acquired a taste for it, she had no idea. There was so much about the man he had become that she did not know.
After a brief wait, the order came served in white cartons with wire handles. Rosa was glad to discover that the rice had been packaged separately. She intended to follow the doctor’s instructions to the letter, and she didn’t want a single drop of sauce to contaminate Ana and Miguel’s food.
Returning to the car, they drove to Plaza Park and ate their lunches on the grass in the shade of a fig tree. Rosa expected Ana,
and perhaps Miguel also, to protest when she served them only plain white rice while the other children sampled the new and exotic flavors of the dishes Lars had selected, but the visit to the hospital had left them quiet and subdued. They knew Rosa had lost other children—Pedro, the brother they remembered, and three other siblings they had never met. Miguel was too young to understand, but gentle, introspective Ana had always been remarkably perceptive for her age. The visit to the hospital had surely reminded her anew that she and Miguel might share their lost siblings’ fate.
When they finished eating, Lupita bounded to her feet and begged to be allowed to play. Marta joined her, but Ana gazed at the white-columned library with such longing that Rosa wished she could take her inside.
“You two go along,” said Lars, settling back against the fig tree. “I’ll watch Marta and Lupita, and I’ll play with Miguel, if he’ll come to me.”
Rosa hesitated, reluctant to let any of the children out of her sight. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What if Oscar and Mary Katherine drive past on their way home? What if someone else from the Arboles Valley comes by?”
She was more afraid of gangsters and police than of Lars’s family or their neighbors, but she could tell from his expression that Lars understood. “If we’re going to be out in public, we’re probably safer splitting up,” he reasoned. “Anyone looking for us would be searching for a woman with four children, and it’s unlikely they’d look for you in a library.”
Ana’s crestfallen face immediately broke into a smile, and Rosa didn’t have the heart to disappoint her. “Miguel, would you like to stay and play?” she asked. When he nodded, she tried to hand him to Lars, but at the last moment Miguel clung to her and turned his face away when Lars reached for him. “Okay. Do you want to go to the library with Mamá instead?” He nodded, so Rosa threw Lars an apologetic look and brought Miguel along as she and Ana walked hand in hand to the library. As they entered the front door and walked among the rows of bookcases, Rosa admired the elegant classical architecture and the well-maintained collections, but her gaze returned time and time again to her daughter’s face, which she had not seen so lit up with happiness and wonder since her first day at the Arboles Valley School.
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