Can’t you help us? If you can’t get a nurse, can you get us a proper coffin?
I’m very sorry. The Red Cross should be here any day now. There’s a good bit of bread and soup here. Are you well enough to fetch it?
My son, he can’t breathe so good.
You could take him to the hospital.
I hear they’re no good anymore. And someone’s got to stay with Mary. Please, miss. What’s your name?
My name is Miss Perkins.
Well Miss Perkins, can’t you do something?
I’m so sorry. I’ve brought you—there’s bread and soup here.
Will you pray for us?
I will. Of course I will.
Hello? Ladies Relief Society. I’m leaving soup and bread by your door. Are you well enough to retrieve it?
Come in, come in.
I’m afraid I mustn’t do that. Are there many of you ill?
Come in, come in.
I really can’t. You see, I’m not a nurse and the risk of infection—I’m bringing soup and bread to all the families on this street.
Come in, come in.
Please, if you’ll just—
It’s the bird.
What? Oh my goodness, you startled me. Does your mother know where you are? Oughtn’t you to be with her?
Ma says it’s better for me to play outside. It’s Miss Constance’s bird, ma’am.
Come in, come in.
Excuse me?
Who you’re talking to. It’s her bird. She don’t come to her door no more.
Is she very unwell?
Come in, come in.
Can I have that bread?
May 18, 1933
Dear Mr. Driscoll,
Mr. Driscoll, I tried to telephone you several times since my last letter, but then I gave up. I suppose it was silly to think that you would talk to me when you are not answering my letters. Frank got so angry about the whole thing that he wanted to go back to the soda factory himself but I convinced him that this was between you and me.
I went to a lawyer but lawyers cost money and we don’t have any. I have looked for the contract you signed with Henry, but if I ever had it I do not have it anymore. I am telling you this so that you know the only way for you to do the right thing is to decide to do it. I cannot make you. Quentin, I would not be writing you again if times were not so hard. It is not too late for you to make up for the wrong you have done, and it would be a great help to my family. I am a Christian woman. I believe in repentance and in forgiving those who seek forgiveness.
Sincerely,
Lydia
My Beautiful Darling—
I am afraid our dear boy is really angry with me this time. I suppose I ought to have warned him about what I planned to do, but I wanted it to be a surprise. You always loved surprises. I will never forget the look on your face when I brought home the boat.
It was quite daunting stepping up to that podium knowing what I planned to do. Can you imagine the weight of a duty that has been deferred for seventy-five years? The first time I tried to stand, my legs gave out! It was a struggle, but I made it to the microphone. And then, my darling, I said aloud what I only ever said that once in a whisper to you. I could tell from the first that our dear boy did not take it well, but he tried to hide his disappointment for the sake of the party. I did not stay long after that—I was so very tired—but everyone was quite kind. Soon I was in a car heading home and the gnawing, hungry feeling that had been haunting me was finally, finally gone.
I wish our dear boy would talk to me. He used to visit every Sunday and sometimes on Wednesday as well, but now he does not visit at all. I have tried to telephone but he does not answer. I even called the police. I told them I thought our dear boy had been kidnapped or maybe even murdered, but when the police came to my door they did not do anything and then that girl took away my phone. Now I have to ask every time I want to make a call and most of the time she says no. I take consolation in the sleep that has finally returned to me. The widow has left my dreams, my Darling. She has forgiven me, but still you will not come. My nights are dreamless, and when I wake I am still alone.
Will you ask our dear boy to forgive his old dad? If you ask him, I am sure he will. Once you and Ralph return we will all leave here together. Now that I am retired we can do anything, Darling, and I have all the time in the world to give to you and our son.
I am Yours Everlasting,
Your Devoted Husband
Lawnview Senior Complex
14 Telegraph Hill
South Boston, MA
Mr. Ralph Finnister
162 B Street
Boston, MA 02127
September 27, 1993
Mr. Finnister:
We at Lawnview Senior Complex take great pride in our community, which provides independence and security to seniors and is based on communication and responsiveness to their evolving wellness. As sponsor of Mr. Quentin Driscoll’s membership at Lawnview you are a crucial part of this community.
It is our goal at Lawnview Senior Complex to provide a restraint-free environment for seniors that maximizes their physical and emotional wellness levels. When a senior’s lifestyle cannot be maintained or improved at one level of care, our Ongoing Wellness Program™ evolves to address their changing life situation. When you signed our Comfort Contract™, you agreed to provide for this inevitable evolution. You consented to respond in a timely manner according to our professional, qualified assessment of Mr. Driscoll’s changing life situation.
We have contacted you repeatedly regarding just such an assessment, but you have been unresponsive to our phone messages and letters. This certified letter will be considered as legally binding notification of Mr. Driscoll’s condition. We refuse to be held liable for any failure on your part to respond to this formal, legal notification of our recommendations regarding Mr. Driscoll.
Mr. Driscoll joined Lawnview at Community Care™ Level 1. This is the level of living accorded to our most independent seniors, who require a minimum of supervision and health care as they conduct their daily lives. Four weeks ago Mr. Driscoll’s residential adviser noticed that he had become withdrawn, choosing not to eat in the dining hall and foregoing several of his regular group activities. He then displayed inappropriate telephone behavior, resulting in his private telephone being removed. At his wellness interview on 9/1/93, Mr. Driscoll expressed distress over an incident that reportedly occurred during an out-of-center trip with you. As Mr. Driscoll remarked and our guest book confirms, you have not visited him since that out-of-center trip. Mr. Driscoll commented that you have not answered or returned his phone calls, inaction that apparently precipitated the inappropriate telephone behavior. This occasioned the first of our phone calls and letters to you, which went unanswered.
At his next wellness interview, on 9/8/93, Mr. Driscoll appeared unkempt and had difficulty engaging with his residential adviser. An apartment visit revealed that he had been subsisting on substandard preprepared foods that lay half-eaten and strewn about the apartment, attracting bugs. The residential adviser scheduled an extra Sunshine Cleaning Call™ (see attached invoice #102346) and advised Mr. Driscoll to resume his prepaid meal program in our communal dining room, but her recommendation was ignored. When the adviser made an extra Courtesy Visit™ (see attached invoice #102389), she ascertained that Mr. Driscoll was living under several misconceptions regarding his first wife, who we understand has been dead for over fifty years. Though previously a tidy man who took pride in his personal appearance, Mr. Driscoll was unkempt and exhibited an unwashed odor. A Happy Home Aide™ was dispatched (see attached invoice #102405) to administer a sponge bath. Once-daily meal deliveries to Mr. Driscoll’s apartment were commenced.
Mr. Finnister, at each of these junctures we attempted to reach you via phone and mail to secure approval for these extra care measures but were stymied by your lack of response. As the Comfort Contract™ stipulates a margin of discretional care on our part, we implemente
d the aforementioned additional care measures, but the outer fiscal limit of this discretional care stipulation has been reached. Until you pay the combined amount indicated on the attached invoices we can take no further steps to accommodate Mr. Driscoll’s evolving wellness needs. We strongly recommend that you upgrade Mr. Driscoll’s residential status to Community Care™ Level 3, which includes daily visits from a residential adviser/home health aide and twice-daily meal delivery. Should Mr. Driscoll’s wellness needs continue to evolve, you may wish to consider relocating him to The Glade™, which provides special care for special seniors in a group setting within the Health Center.
Mr. Finnister, you can see for yourself the urgency with which a response from you is required. We pride ourselves on maintaining the dignity of our community members. Failure to respond to this letter within seven days will result in a formal neglect complaint being filed against you and the commencement of proceedings to transfer Mr. Driscoll to a state facility.
Sincerely,
Yolanda Bogart
Department Manager
Lawnview Senior Complex Community Care™
The ferry for Percival Cole was scheduled to arrive early the next morning. The rest of the medical staff planned to escort Percy from the hospital, but Lydia did not want to see him in that place again. Neither did she want to remain in her room, passively watching for him from her window. When she left her barrack, she saw ten men in gray uniforms standing at attention just outside the flag circle. She was puzzled by their placement until she realized they had positioned themselves within sight of the west ward windows. She knew if she glanced toward the hospital she would see the west warders standing at those windows. Within an instant she would be able to discern Frank’s presence or absence among them. She was spared the decision whether or not to turn by the appearance of Percival Cole’s corpse.
The draped stretcher, carried by Dr. Gold and Dr. Peterson, formed the head of a funerary procession composed of Nurse Foley and the four surviving junior medical staff. As the cortege crossed the flag circle, the volunteers fell into line behind Lydia. The west ward’s sight lines fell short of this procession. Though Lydia had not turned toward the men at the windows, she could picture perfectly what they would see: ten men disappearing from view until all that remained was an empty compound. When the procession passed through the compound gates, the volunteers remained at its threshold, their arms raised in salute. This was as far as they were permitted to go. For as long as she could, Lydia alternated between facing forward and turning to view their diminishing silhouettes.
She thought Dr. Gold might speak once the cortege gained the dock but he did not. In silence, Gold and Peterson carried the draped stretcher into the ferry’s cabin and in silence they reemerged with empty hands. The mate untied the mooring lines and the ferry set off. They all stood on the dock until the boat was no longer visible and then, in silence, returned to the compound. By the time of their return, Percy Cole’s honor guard was gone.
The meat served with that morning’s breakfast reminded Lydia of dangling fingers. She gazed at her plate to avoid the sight of mouths chewing and swallowing. Beneath the white lab coats of her dining companions she could picture the broad, Y-shaped incisions that would divide their chests into three unequal portions.
Her eagerness to ascertain the health of the men in the west ward was equaled by her dread of discovering illness. She would arrive to the ward at exactly the time she had always arrived. She would distribute breakfast, she would look for signs of illness, and then she would leave. And she would accomplish these feats without once thinking of Percy.
The silence in the ward was not the natural quiet of morning but that often men holding their breaths.
“Nursie, is it true about the doctor?” Harry asked, but she did not look at him because his bed neighbored Frank’s and she was not ready to look there.
“Don’t spare us the truth,” George cautioned, “cause we already know he’s gone.”
“It coulda been one of the gobs,” Sam insisted.
“But it wasn’t no gob,” George avowed. “Was it, Nursie?”
Images of the autopsy filled her mind. She tried to transform Cole into a man asleep; when that did not banish the image of his trisected chest, she pictured a field of flowers. “It wasn’t a sailor,” she confirmed once she was sure she could control her voice.
None of the men recall Nursie Lydia speaking. Her hair was untidy and her dress was creased and she stood completely still and quiet until Harry mentioned Frankie.
“And he’s the one, ain’t he?” Harry asked softly. “The one whose blood is in our veins?”
“Under our skin,” Joe corrected. “If they’d put it in our veins we’d be dead already—no one can take a dead man’s blood to the heart—but now we got dead man’s blood under our skin and that’s the undeniable truth.”
“Can’t they take it out?” Teddy asked. “Let them run a different test if they like, but this one’s no good.”
“I don’t think something can be taken out once it’s been put in,” she whispered. To forestall further questions she directed her attention to the breakfast trays. She would have preferred to start at the row of beds headed by Teddy, but she had always begun with Harry. When she approached he leaned toward her.
“Frankie’s sick,” he said softly.
She heard a low buzzing in her ears. “What do you mean?” she asked, unsure how loudly or softly she had spoken.
Nursie Lydia’s voice raised the hairs along Harry’s arms and made him wish, for the first time, that Nurse Foley was handing out breakfast instead.
“See for yourself.” Harry shrugged. “He was tossing and turning all night. He didn’t want me to say nothing but I keep something like that to myself and it’s on my conscience.”
Lydia left the cart and crossed to Frank’s bed. He was curled on one side, his eyes closed, but she could tell he was awake.
“Bentley,” she said as evenly as possible, “Able tells me you’re not feeling well.”
He opened his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. His face was pale and gray circles ringed his eyes. She fought the urge to stroke his cheek. “I just didn’t sleep too good last night.”
According to all the men, Lydia was crying.
“He ain’t been sleeping good for a few days now,” Harry reported.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I’ve had a lot on my mind is all. You promised not to tell,” he accused in a voice that tripled Lydia’s heart rate until she realized he was speaking to Harry. “I tell you it’s nothing a walk outside won’t fix, but in here I just stay all wound up.”
“I know it, Frankie,” Harry apologized, “but if it turns out it’s something more serious I wouldn’t be able to live with myself for keeping quiet.”
“It’s all right, Harry.” He sighed. “I know you mean well.”
“I’m taking your temperature,” she announced. Her hand shook as she removed the thermometer from its case. She blocked her hand with her body to prevent anyone from witnessing, but Frank saw it all.
Frank took the thermometer and inserted it himself. Her hand was shaking so much he was afraid she would break it.
As she brought the thermometer to his mouth she set her eyes on the stretch of skin just below his lower lip. There was stubble there, just as there had been the night his chin had glanced her cheek. The thermometer would need to be in his mouth five minutes before she would know. She began delivering the trays, but now she could not hold them steady and she almost spilled Tony’s breakfast. She finished the first row of beds and started on the second. If everyone acted as they were supposed to, she might survive the minute that remained before she would have to read the thermometer. She returned to Frank’s bed, silently counting her steps as she went: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. She continued her silent counting once she reached him, now counting the small blunt hairs emerging from the soft stretch of skin below the swell of his mouth. She had bare
ly begun before the thermometer was no longer between his lips. She held the thermometer, still moist from his mouth, in her shaking hand. She would allow herself one moment before looking at the mercury. She would allow herself one more.
“You have a slight fever,” she quavered, her voice carving a Y-shaped incision through the silence. “I’m going to call for the doctor.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice low and steady. Perhaps he was trying to hypnotize her.
Frank was speaking as much for her sake as for his. When she announced he had a fever she sounded like a crazy woman.
“Of course I do!” she exclaimed.
“It’s nothing,” he persisted. “I always get like this when I don’t get a good night’s sleep.”
Other voices might have spoken then; she was not sure. It was all she could do to discern his words from the buzzing in her ears.
“Don’t move,” she commanded, sounding like she was underwater. She pointed at him the way a teacher points out an errant student. She knew she could not so much as brush her hand against his shoulder. She walked toward the door.
“Liddie, don’t.” The name pinned her in place. “Liddie,” he called.
Wickett's Remedy Page 31