Tattler's Branch

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Tattler's Branch Page 7

by Jan Watson


  “Oh, Tern, you’ve been gone for weeks.”

  “I know, but there’s been an explosion and a cave-in at a mine in Canada. A dozen men are trapped miles underground. Washington offered our help. I’m on the way there now. I’m calling from the train station.”

  Her eyes filled with hot tears. What exquisite torture, hearing his dear voice but not being in his presence, not being able to feel his arms around her, not hearing the beat of his strong heart against her cheek. She stifled a sob.

  “I love you, honey. You’re not crying, are you? Please don’t cry. I’ll be home soon enough.”

  Lilly dug her thumbnail into her index finger to redirect the pain in her heart. No sense making this more difficult for him. “I love you too, dearest. Just be careful. Promise?”

  “This is the best, hearing your voice. I’m glad this thing works.”

  “Yes, me too. Tern? I’ve got something to tell you also.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  She took a breath and forced a broad smile—she wanted to savor the moment she gave her husband such wonderful news, and her voice would be lighter with a smile. “Are you ready to be a father?” she teased.

  A blast of static followed by dead silence rewarded her question. She tapped the receiver against the wall as if that would clear the line. It was still dead as could be. Frustrated, she replaced the earpiece, cranked the phone, and picked up the receiver again.

  “Operator—number, please,” eked out in a feminine voice.

  “I was speaking with my husband. We’ve been disconnected.”

  “Number, please.” The woman drew out her words. It sounded to Lilly like she was forcing a smile too.

  “I don’t have a number.”

  “Please hold.”

  Inside Lilly’s ear, the phone rang distantly. “Directory assistance. What city, please?”

  “I don’t know what city.”

  “Hold, please.”

  The telephone clicked and hissed. “Number, please.”

  “I was disconnected—”

  The buzzing of a dozen bees replaced the operator’s voice. Lilly hung up. Her ear throbbed from being pressed so tightly to the receiver. “Stupid thing,” she said to the telephone, which offered no reply. She was of a good mind to jerk the whole shebang off the wall and pitch it through the kitchen window. Progress! Who needed it?

  After refilling her tea glass and Mazy’s, she stepped outside to join her sister at the small picnic table under the apple tree in the side yard. Tiny green apples had replaced the pretty white blossoms that graced the tree during the spring. Kip jumped up to sit in her lap.

  “Oh, Sister,” Mazy said. “That was so exciting. It defies logic, capturing a person’s voice and flinging it down the road that way. Did he sound the same?”

  “He did. Of course, we’ve talked on a telephone before.” Lilly let a bit of ice from her drink melt on her tongue. Her mouth felt numb from unsaid words.

  “Isn’t God good, Lilly, to let us have such a thing?”

  Lilly let the warm night air wash over her. Her yard was newly mown, the grass releasing the lush, fertile scent evocative of summer. She stroked Kip’s back. His fur was silky smooth beneath her fingers. And inside her womb, her baby grew safe and sound, no less real for being unspoken. “Yes, Mazy, God is very good.”

  “You know what else would be a miracle?”

  “No, what else would be a miracle?” Lilly asked.

  Mazy twisted a curl around her finger. “Me having someone to talk to on that thing.”

  From across the table, Lilly squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “That will happen soon enough. Come inside and I’ll give you a lesson on phone etiquette. You can be in charge of answering the clinic phone.”

  “Wait, wait. I have to practice.” She lowered her voice. “Hello. Hello. Does that sound businessy? Or should I be friendlier? Hellooo. Hellooo.”

  “Your regular voice is just fine, Mazy. I’m sure you’ll sound like a person in charge when you connect.”

  “Really?” Mazy stood and retrieved their glasses. “I’ve always wanted to be in charge of something.” She looked surprised. “We have a visitor.”

  Chanis Clay tipped his hat as he approached. “Evening, ladies. I just stopped by to . . . well . . . I needed to ask . . .” His eyes lit on Kip. “Maybe the dog needs walking or something.”

  Mazy’s eyes pleaded, Say yes, Lilly. Say yes.

  “I’m sure Kip would love a ten-minute walk, but I don’t want him chasing after squirrels this late in the day. I’ll get his leash.”

  “I’ll get it,” Mazy said, setting Lilly’s half-full glass on the table. “You finish your tea.”

  As the screen door slapped shut behind Mazy, Lilly gave Chanis a questioning look.

  He dropped his gaze, kicking a pebble around with the toe of his polished boot. “I was hoping you’d let me come calling on your sister.”

  “Hmm,” Lilly said, noting the blush that crept up his neck. “Have you ever called on a young lady before?”

  “No, ma’am, there’s hardly been the time.” He stuck his finger under the collar of his shirt and eased it away from his throat. “Plus, to tell you the truth, I’ve never been tempted before.”

  “Tempted?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as the blush rose to cover his cheeks. “I meant to say interested. I’ve never been so interested. I can’t seem to get her off my mind.” He swallowed hard, his discomfort palpable. “I don’t usually talk so much—you’ll think I’m addled.”

  “Not at all, Chanis. Mazy is a memorable girl.”

  Kip danced excitedly when Mazy returned and attached the lead to his collar.

  Lilly noticed a fresh gloss of color on her sister’s lips. Mazy seemed a bit too eager. Lilly would keep a close eye on her—and on Chanis Clay. “Enjoy your walk,” she said.

  Chapter 9

  Armina was up and eating silver-dollar pancakes when Lilly stopped by the next morning.

  “No thank you,” Lilly said when Hannah offered breakfast. “I’ve eaten, but I’ll take a cup of tea.”

  Once the nurse had poured Lilly’s tea, she left the room.

  Armina leaned in close. “What’s that woman doing flipping flapjacks in my kitchen?”

  They could hear a window being raised in the bedroom followed by a mighty plumping of pillows.

  “Hannah’s been staying with you because you’ve been ill, Armina. I can see you’re much better today.”

  “I’m fine as frog’s hair,” Armina said, upending the syrup pitcher. “I didn’t take her to raise.”

  “Let’s give it a couple more days. You need to gather your strength.”

  “I won’t get no strength from that woman’s cooking.” She took her fork and stabbed one of the little cakes. “Look at these pitiful things, and this syrup’s thin as water.”

  “I’m sure I saw some sorghum in your pantry.”

  “I know, but I ain’t about to ask, and I didn’t feel up to crossing the floor to get it.”

  “That’s exactly why you need someone with you for a little while longer.”

  The seesawing squeak of a drawer being tugged from its base emanated from the room beyond. “I reckon she don’t even know how to candle the bottom of a dresser drawer,” Armina said.

  “I’m sure you could teach her lots of things. She’s really very nice.”

  Armina poured some of her coffee into her saucer and blew across it. “I could start with this here brew, which is all coffee. I’ve got dried dandelion root and chicory right in the cupboard there. One part to four parts and a body can stretch a pound of joe for weeks.” She looked over the rim of her saucer at Lilly. “Nobody wants to fool with making hard-times coffee anymore. But that’s pure wasteful, and wasteful’s right next door to sinful.”

  “Hmm,” Lilly said as she absently traced a circle with her index finger on the cherry-printed oilcloth table topper. She needed to proceed with caution. “I can’t hel
p but wonder where you were when you fell ill on Monday, Armina.”

  “You’ve got your days mixed up, Doc. This here’s Monday, and I ain’t been out of the house.” Armina pointed her fork toward the bedroom door. “I can’t go anywheres until that woman goes on home. She’d probably steal me blind. You can’t trust nobody no more.” She took a long draw of coffee. “Why she wants to clean my house is a mystery to me.”

  Lilly got up and took the advertising calendar from a nail on the door of the pantry. Scarboro Beach Clam Chowder: A Reminder of Old New England was emblazoned in red print across the top of the calendar. At the bottom, under the blocks of days, in black it read: Real Clam Flavor. Sample Can Postpaid 10 Cents. Booklet Free. Ned must have brought the calendar back as a souvenir from when he was in Boston receiving follow-up care for his prosthetic limb, a very successful trip. One could hardly tell that Ned once walked on a wooden peg.

  She removed Armina’s sticky plate and put the calendar on the table. It was time to orient her friend to time and place. Lilly tapped a day block. “This is today, Armina. It’s Thursday.” She ran her finger back to Monday. “On this day you fell ill. Mazy found you on your parlor floor. This was late on Monday. Mr. Tippen carried you across the street—”

  “Hold on a minute,” Armina interrupted. “I remember Monday now. Something was amiss on Monday.” Her face gathered in a knot of concentration.

  Lilly watched Armina closely. If she showed any sign of relapse, Lilly had laudanum available in her kit. She wouldn’t let it go so far as to have to put Armina in restraints again. But Armina seemed fine, just puzzled.

  “Yep, something was dead wrong with Monday.”

  Hannah hovered just inside the bedroom door. She raised her brows in question. Lilly barely shook her head as if to say, “Don’t interrupt—we’re finally going to get some answers.”

  Armina turned her face from one side to the other like a prizefighter releasing tension from strained neck muscles. Her eyes flashed with anger. “Turnip Tippen! Well, that just makes me mad enough to spit. I’ve got about as much use for Turnip Tippen as a hog has for a sidesaddle.”

  “You were too weak to walk, remember? Mr. Tippen simply helped us get you to my house. He was very respectful.”

  She set her face in a grimace. “I’d druther you left me on the porch.”

  Lilly felt they were making progress. Even though Armina was fixating on the wrong thing, at least she was remembering something. Given time and patience, the rest of what happened on Monday would come into focus. “It was threatening rain or I would have left you right there like a potted plant.”

  “What kind of potted plant do you reckon I’d be?”

  “I suspect Mr. Tippen would say a cactus.”

  Armina hiccuped a giggle, then laughed out loud. “I’d like to be a big old spiny cactus like them ones in the desert.”

  “My cousin has a cactus patch growing on a rocky hillside,” Hannah said. “They have the prettiest orange blossoms every summer.”

  “There you go,” Armina said with a coy smile. “I could be prickly and pleasing at the same time.”

  Hearing her friend’s laughter was a balm to Lilly’s soul. She was definitely on the mend. The nurse could be dismissed from Armina’s care soon, and Ned would be home in a week or so.

  “Well, enough thinking out loud,” Armina said, wincing as she stood. “I’m going to sweep the porch.”

  “Let her go,” Lilly mouthed to Hannah as they watched Armina steadying herself on various pieces of furniture and then the wall to make her way across the room.

  The screen door squeaked open. “It’s going to be a hot one. Wonder what’s going on in the garden.”

  “Bless her heart,” Hannah said when the door closed. “She packs a grudge like a ten-dollar mule. I don’t believe she even knew Ned when his accident happened.”

  Lilly listened to Armina’s broom swoosh across the porch floor. She was not one to encourage idle talk, but she’d always wondered why Armina disliked Mr. Tippen. Her curiosity got the better of her. “What do you mean?”

  “Years back when Ned Tippen lost his leg in a cave-in, story was that his uncle Turnip ran for his life, leaving him behind. Now that’s the way I heard it. Ned doesn’t seem to bear any ill will toward his uncle, though.”

  “A mine accident is a scary thing. One never knows what one would do in such a circumstance.”

  “You do, Dr. Still. I’ve heard tell that you run in instead of out.”

  Lilly pushed back from the table and carried her teacup and saucer to the sink. “That’s my job, Hannah. I’m here in Skip Rock because of the mines.”

  “I don’t know another woman who’d do what you do, Doc. I’m right proud to know you.”

  “Speaking of what I do, I’d best get to the clinic,” Lilly said while rinsing out her cup. “Keep an eye on Armina. Don’t let her wander too far.”

  “If she does, I’ll wander with her. How about that?”

  “I should have thought of this before: you can use the telephone in my house to call the clinic if you need me. That would be the best way to handle an emergency. The number to my office is posted on the wall right over the telephone.”

  “Oh, Doc, I couldn’t. I don’t hardly believe in them things. My pastor says they’re the work of the devil. Pastor says soon enough folks will have ears big as elephants’ from pressing up against those machines. I’ll send somebody after you if need be.”

  Lilly straightened her jacket and walked to the door. She’d keep her thoughts about the pastor’s teaching to herself. “Right now Armina’s sitting in the rocker. Could be she’s decided she isn’t as strong as she thought she was.”

  “I’ll take some yarn out there and sit with her. Maybe she’d like to do something with her hands to pass the time.”

  Chapter 10

  Lilly loved her early morning walks to work when everything seemed fresh and new. A smoky haze obscured the mountain ridges in undulating ribbons of blue and gray. The fine mist bathed her face and titillated her nose with the scent of clear mountain streams, unturned loam, bedrock so solid it supported the world, and hidden dark seams of black diamond coal. It was a smell as familiar to her as her own breath.

  It was good to have a few moments of quiet time before she started work. As she rounded the corner, she could tell it would be a busy day. A line of folks waited outside the clinic although the cardboard sign in the window said Closed. The nurse must not be here yet, nor Mazy. It was still early. Lilly was glad to be able to slip in the back door.

  Mazy followed closely behind. She was dressed in an embroidered, hand-tucked, sheer-lawn shirtwaist over a heliotrope slip. Her skirt was black lightweight wool. Lilly recognized the ensemble because it came from her closet. She’d tried the skirt on just this morning and laid it aside when she couldn’t get it to snap.

  “You might have asked before going into my closet, Mazy.”

  “But, Sister, you weren’t home, and besides, I knew you’d say yes.” She danced through the office, letting the skirt twirl around her ankles. “We’re the exact same size except for shoes. Your feet are too big.”

  “Thank goodness for small favors,” Lilly said.

  Mazy leaned over the desk and kissed Lilly’s cheek. “I look so mature in your clothes. Don’t you think?”

  Lilly didn’t want to burst Mazy’s bubble, but with those Goldilocks curls framing her face, Mazy looked exactly her age, and that was a good thing. “You look very professional, Mazy.”

  “Can I flip the sign now?” she asked. “I love flipping that sign. Nurse let me do that yesterday when we closed at noon.”

  It was nearly time for lunch. Lilly was removing tar from the scalp of a three-year-old boy. Last evening, his mother had noticed an outbreak of scald head, and using an old-time remedy, she’d boiled a quart of urine along with half a cup of lard and a lump of tar before smearing the concoction all along the child’s hairline. Thank goodness she’d let it cool
first. Lilly had seen third-degree burns from some such treatments.

  The mother relayed that the child had cried most of the night. His bony chest shuddered with hiccups as Lilly worked the tar loose with mild castile soap and water. When she finished, she applied rose ointment and gave the rest of the small tub of cream to the mother. “Use this mornings and evenings on the pustules,” she said.

  The mother eyed the just-used soap.

  Lilly folded the wrapper around it. “And take this, too.”

  “Thank ye kindly,” the mother said, inhaling the scent of the soap bar. “It smells so pretty.”

  Lilly had just handed the boy a gingersnap from the cookie jar on her desk when four long blasts of a train whistle caught their attention. The whistle was followed by a mighty screech of metal against metal. The lad stuffed the cookie into his mouth and then clapped his hands over his ears.

  “Sounds like somebody pulled the emergency brake,” the mother said, swinging her son up to her hip. “It takes a mighty effort to stop a train.”

  Lilly opened the door and ushered the family out. “Come back if need be,” she said as she watched folks spill out of the commissary across the street and rush toward the railroad tracks. Even her waiting room was emptying. She’d see if any emergent cases had stayed and then head that way.

  The crow-fly way to where the train was stopped was through a farmer’s field. As Lilly maneuvered between horseweeds and cowpats, she saw a gang of boys running pell-mell in her direction. Timmy Blair was in the lead. The lad’s face was slick with sweat and pale as Cream of Wheat. He stopped on a dime when he saw her, the other boys packing up behind him.

  “Doc! Doc!” Timmy gasped. “The sheriff sent me to fetch you! We saw the whole thing. It’s the . . . It’s the . . .”

  “Timmy, take a breath.”

  “It’s the gandy dancer,” one of the bigger boys shouted out.

  Timmy turned on him. “I was telling her. I seen it first. I got dibs.”

 

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