“We can try that. If you will talk to her, Mrs. Humbert, that might help.”
“I’ll try. Assuming her condition improves enough to leave here, what, in your opinion, needs to happen? Could she return home if she has a caregiver?”
“Mr. Jamison indicated that her home is unfit for a person with mobility problems. She’ll never be able to handle stairs again. Could those problems be resolved?”
“I don’t know,” Vera said.
“We have a wonderful facility in Shelton Cove. Why don’t you go talk to the administrator.”
“We have an appointment to see him this afternoon,” Vera said.
“Good.” He closed Agatha’s chart and stood, indicating the appointment was over.
“We may want to talk with you again this week.”
He took a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Vera. “Here’s my office number. My receptionist can make an appointment for you, if you wish.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
The doctor left the room, his footsteps heavy and purposeful as he strode down the tiled hallway.
“Well, that was quick,” Vera said. “But I’m not sure that I learned anything new. Did you?”
“Actually, we learned that your aunt’s surgery was a success. With the right motivation and help, she can get up and walk. So the trick is to appeal to her spirit of independence. But she still may need to move into an assisted living center. She’s too fragile at this point to live alone.”
“Let’s stop by her room before we leave,” Vera said.
They passed aides who were wheeling patients to the dining room for lunch. At Agatha’s room, an aide was helping her stand and get her balance with a walker. She had on a hospital robe over a hospital gown.
“Hello, look at you,” Vera said. “You’re ready to take a walk.”
“They want me to walk to the dining room. I don’t know if I can make it. I haven’t walked that far since I’ve been here,” she said. “I’d rather eat in my room. It makes me ill watching people drool and spill their food all over themselves.”
“We’ll go with you,” Vera said. “May we?” she asked the aide.
“There, Agatha. You won’t be alone,” the aide said. To Vera, she answered, “You certainly may. We encourage family members to go to meals and other activities with the patients.”
“You run along, dear,” Agatha told the aide. “My niece and her nurse friend can help me walk.”
“I’m supposed to stay with you,” the aide replied.
“Is it a requirement?” Alice asked. “Otherwise, we’ll be happy to help her.”
“Just stay at her side in case her knees buckle.”
“We’ll be your private guards,” Vera teased her aunt. “I’m not sure if we need to protect you or everyone else. You won’t speed, will you?”
“Oh, go on,” Agatha said, giving her niece a glowering look that came across as an affectionate glance. Vera laughed.
“You see what I have to put up with?” Agatha said to Alice.
“And you love it. Shall we go?”
Alice walked on one side, and Vera walked on the other, just far enough back to support Agatha if she stumbled. She took one halting step, moved the walker forward, then took another step. It took five minutes to go down the hallway to the dining room, about seventy feet away. At the doorway, Agatha looked around.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to a small table that seated four. It had a single occupant. “She’s not so bad.”
The lady, dressed in street clothes, had a walker parked beside her. Her hands were shaking as she reached for her water glass. By the time Agatha and her escorts made it to the table, the woman had managed to get the glass to her lips—although a good bit of the water had spilled out—and returned it to the table. She looked up when they approached and she smiled.
“Agatha,” she said, beckoning for them to sit down. Her smile made her eyes sparkle. “One of these lovely girls must be your niece. Hello, dears.”
“Hello. I’m Alice. This is Vera, Agatha’s niece. How nice of you to call us girls.”
“Well, you are certainly younger than I, but up here …” she tapped her head with a shaky finger, “I’m only twenty-nine.
That’s how I feel inside,” she said, patting her chest above her heart.
“That’s Lillian Vickers,” Agatha said. “She and I played bridge together, back when we were young. And you’re not twenty-nine anymore.”
“Oh, sit down, you old lady, you. I know how old I am, but I’m not going to let that stop me and neither should you. I just pretend that walker contraption there is a skateboard,” Lillian said. “I told my grandson I’d race him when I get out of here.”
“Pshaw! As if they’d let you skateboard in the halls of that old people’s home.” Vera helped lower Agatha down onto a chair across from her friend.
Alice sat across from Lillian. Vera took a seat to her right. A woman with a hairnet and disposable gloves brought two trays of food and set one in front of Agatha and one in front of Lillian. “Looks like you’ve got helpers today,” the woman said, then hurried off to get another tray.
Agatha scowled. “Good thing I can feed myself. Otherwise I’d starve in here.” She pushed aside her tray.
Alice noticed several uniformed staff who were helping patients eat. She turned to Lillian, pointedly ignoring Agatha. “Are you moving into a retirement home?”
She sighed, then sat up a little straighter. “Yes. I’m going to Briarhurst. My son is making the arrangements.” Lillian’s lower lip betrayed her distress. “He came by this morning with papers for me to sign to sell my house.” She was silent for a moment. “I hear they treat you like a queen there. Not like here. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. They do their best here, but this is not a residential home. This is rehab, although some people live here, bless their hearts.”
“They’ve got pill pushers at that home, just like here,” Agatha said.
“And a good thing,” Lillian said. “Then you don’t have to worry about what time it is or if you already took your pills. My memory isn’t what it used to be, you know. Neither is yours, I’m thinking.”
“My mind is as sharp as one of those needles they keep poking in my arm. I am not going into that home, no matter how nice you say it is.” She glanced at Vera.
“I wonder if the doctor knows you’re capable of being independent?” Alice said softly.
Agatha gave her a startled look. “What do you mean?”
“I was thinking about my own experience, working in a hospital. I have patients who come straight from the recovery room. I imagine you were groggy and disoriented from the anesthetic they gave you. You know, sometimes it can take weeks for that to work out of your system. I don’t like to hurt people, but I have to make them cough, sit up, stand up, walk—all the things that are so hard those first few days.”
“Hard. You can say that again,” Lillian said.
“It’s for their own good. Getting better requires determination and courage, you know? Then they progress from intravenous feedings and ice chips to broth to soft foods, then finally to real food like your lunch. If they don’t progress, they don’t improve very quickly. I’ve had patients who rip out their intravenous tubes and feeding tubes and refuse to eat. But once they are determined to get better, they make amazing strides.”
“Are you talking about me?” Agatha asked, raising her chin defiantly.
“I don’t know. Am I?” Alice replied. Agatha stared at her. Alice gazed back, trying to convey true sympathy for her condition.
“You think it’d make a difference?” Agatha asked.
“Yes. I do.”
“Vera, would you say a prayer for us, so we can start eating?” Agatha said. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.
As Alice bowed her head, she caught Lillian looking at her. The older lady winked, then bowed her head and shut her eyes while Vera thanked the Lord for their meal.
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br /> “I’ll be out in a minute, Louise. I want to check my e-mail before I go out to the garden. I sent a message to my old friends and coworkers in San Francisco, looking for sponsors for the Harvest race. I want to see if there are any replies.”
“Take your time. I’ll go on ahead.” Louise went through the kitchen, collected what she needed, then hurried out to the garden while Jane was absorbed with her e-mail. Wendell followed Louise and sniffed around, looking for whatever he’d encountered earlier when Jane found him.
Louise retrieved a trowel from the shed, then went to the pumpkin patch.
She saw the mess before she got there and nearly dropped the paper sack she was carrying. The smallest of the three pumpkins was split open and the vine and leaves scattered. She looked beyond it to her giant. Leaves were strewn, the umbrella leaned at a precarious angle, but the pumpkin seemed to be intact.
She stepped up to it carefully. A scratch marred the surface. The split stem that had been buried was uncovered, but not cut through. Looking around to make sure she was alone, Louise opened the sack she was carrying and took out a jar. She knelt down and poured the contents around the base of the plant’s stem, then worked it in with the trowel. She put the jar back in the sack and set it out of the way, beneath a bunch of leaves where Jane wouldn’t see it. As she stood to go back to her pumpkin, the side door of the inn opened. Louise started, but quickly regained her composure and returned to the pumpkin.
Jane went first to the shed, then came out carrying two rakes and a large black plastic yard bag. She looked around at the carnage. “What a mess! Is your pumpkin all right?”
“The big one just has a scratch. But the little one is split open.”
Jane went to the big one first. “I think it’s all right, Louise. The skin looks like it’s toughened, so the scratch probably didn’t breach the pumpkin. We’ll have to watch it, but surface cuts can heal. Let’s give it additional shade. We can attach some old blankets to the umbrella and make a tent.”
“Good idea. Did you see this one? Whatever attacked the garden got to this one first.”
Jane went over to the smaller pumpkin. It had split wide open and dirt had been tossed all over the pumpkin, the leaves and the path as if something had been digging or scuffling. “Wendell must have surprised it. I wonder if a raccoon invaded the garden, Louise. I haven’t seen any around this summer, but they like ripe fruit and vegetables. And where there’s one, there’s a family of raccoons.”
Louise looked around. Considering the damage from one animal, she pictured the complete destruction of Jane’s garden. Although Jane harvested daily, an abundance of produce remained. “If it’s a raccoon, it’ll come back. What shall we do?”
Jane pushed up her three-quarter-length sleeves as if preparing to do battle. She pivoted around, surveying the garden. “First we clean up this mess, then we pick everything in the garden. That won’t protect your giant, though. Let’s call Craig. Maybe he’ll have an idea.”
“I’ll call him, but don’t start cleaning up that mess. Take care of picking your vegetables first. I’ll be right back.”
“All right. While you’re at it, invite him to dinner. I was going to call Fred too. We have leftover ham and tons of vegetables to go with it.”
“I’ll call them both.” Louise retrieved her sack, then rushed into the house, knowing that her sister would have everything finished before she got back if she didn’t hurry.
“Don’t you look lovely today,” a voice said from the doorway. Vera stopped brushing Agatha’s hair and looked up. Alice looked over her shoulder. A tall, stocky woman with a cheery smile and friendly brown eyes stepped into the room. She had on tan pants and a blue smock that Alice assumed was a uniform.
“Gracious me, look at you after so many years,” she said to Vera. “I’m so glad you’ve come to help your aunt. Mrs. Agatha’s my favorite patient around here, but I don’t get to spend much time with her.”
“This is Olivia Martino,” Agatha said. “Maybe you remember her husband. He worked at the boatyard for years. He helped me keep the business solvent through those first two years after George died.”
“I do remember. How nice to see you again,” Vera said.
“Olivia came by every week to see if I was all right.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Jamison saw us through some hard years. Least we could do to help out. Your aunt’s a good lady.”
“Yes, she is.” Vera took Agatha’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m glad you’re here to keep an eye on her … and make her behave.” Vera winked at her aunt.
“As if I could do anything else,” Agatha said. “Olivia is deserting me, though. She’s going to retire.”
“Congratulations,” Alice said.
“I don’t know if I’m going to like retirement,” Olivia said. “I’ve been in nursing for thirty-five years. But I’ve got things I want to do, like needlepoint projects, a stack of novels to read, boxes of pictures to put into albums for my grandchildren and a family story to write for them. There’s never enough time.”
“It sounds like you have plenty to keep you busy,” Vera said.
Olivia shrugged. “For a few hours a day, perhaps, but I have to be active. I’m thinking about doing home health care. They’re always looking for people. Maybe I’ll come visit you, Mrs. Agatha. I can help you put on your makeup. You look so pretty today. Especially with that colorful gown. You look like you’re ready to go out on the town.
Maybe I’ll take you out for tea or we can have it at your place. I’ll even bring the treats. I love to cook, but it’s no fun cooking for one. Well, I’d best get back to work before they come looking for me. Nice seeing you, ladies.” Vera and Alice bid her good-bye.
“You have all kinds of friends in here, Aunt Agatha. I’m surprised you’re not out in the halls, visiting.”
“I would be if I could just get around better.”
“We’ll come take you for a nice long walk tomorrow. We’re going to go now and let you rest.”
“You’re going to see what to do with me, aren’t you?”
“You want me to help, don’t you?” Vera asked.
Agatha lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes. “I suppose you must. I can’t stay here. They won’t let me go home. You might as well order my coffin. You can bury me in this caftan.”
“Please, Aunt Agatha, don’t talk like that,” Vera said. “You’re going to get better.”
“The doctor doesn’t think I will. Reginald doesn’t think I’ll get better. I can’t walk by myself without that silly walker, or take a shower without some nurse helping me. Do you know how humiliating that is, Alvera? Sometimes I wish Jesus would come take me home. George is waiting for me up there in heaven. Your mother and father, rest their souls, they’re waiting for me. What do I have here? Just a bunch of old bones that don’t work anymore. You’re going to leave and go back to that place with your husband, and it’s right you should. I’m just a burden. To you. To Reginald. He’s trying to get someone to take care of me and he has to keep that business going. How else will I pay my doctor bills?”
“Mrs. Jamison, did I hear you right? Vera told me you had spunk and an independent streak. Are you giving up?”
Agatha opened one eye and looked at Alice. “Are you goading me?”
Alice tried Louise’s trick and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply.
“I’m tired, so you’d better leave now.” Agatha closed her eyes.
“We’ll come back at dinnertime,” Vera said. She leaned over and gave her aunt a kiss. Agatha lay still, breathing noisily as if she were snoring. Well, Alice thought, I’m not sure the makeup and dress helped much, but at least Agatha’s still willful enough to have the last word.
Chapter Sixteen
This looks like one of those sprawling Cape Cod estates,” Vera said as she pulled in to the visitors parking at the Briarhurst Retirement Village.
The white clapboard buildings were trimmed in blue and had bl
ue tile roofs. American flags, the Delaware flag and a variety of state and foreign flags flapped merrily on poles along the street in front of the buildings. People meandered along the walkways of extensive lawns and gardens. Some used walkers and wheelchairs, but many were walking about, dressed as if out for a game of tennis. Families sat around picnic tables. Children played tag and did cartwheels on the manicured lawns.
“It’s lovely,” Alice said as they walked up a sidewalk bordered by red and white geraniums and chrysanthemums in riots of color. “Not what you’d picture as a typical nursing home. I wonder if your aunt has ever visited here.”
“I don’t know, but the beauty wouldn’t sway her, I’m afraid. If it meant leaving her home, she’d turn down an invitation to live in the White House.”
“I think I understand. I’d hate to move out of my home. Other than my years at college, I’ve never lived anywhere else.”
A sliding glass door opened automatically at their approach. The commodious reception area looked like a fancy hotel lobby. Off to one side, people milled about in an inviting lodge-style room. Bookshelves flanked a massive rock fireplace. At one table, four women played Scrabble. At another, two men played chess, surrounded by a group of observers.
“May I help you?” a pleasant young woman asked.
“We have an appointment with the administrator,” Vera said.
“I’ll show you to his office.”
They followed her down a carpeted corridor. A few potted plants and pleasant landscape pictures decorated the hallway. She stopped at a door, knocked, then opened it when a voice bade them enter.
A man in casual business attire stood and greeted them. “I’m Barney Johnson,” he said, holding his hand out toward both of them.
“I’m Vera Humbert.” She shook his hand. “This is Alice Howard.”
“Welcome. Please sit down.” He gestured toward two chairs in front of his metal desk.
A large, framed aerial map of the town, the river and the retirement village hung on the wall behind him. A photograph of a woman and three teenagers hung on the opposite wall. The office was simple and functional. It appeared that the decorating budget had been reserved for the public areas.
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