by Wes Brummer
Bea crossed her arms. “Sally said you were leaving because of me.” Her little-girl voice had a resonant alto timbre. “I feared it was true.”
“I thought Sally was a friend from the orphanage? How can…” Sara drew back with understanding. “Sally’s not from there. She’s a part of you.”
Beatrice cast her eyes downward. “Sally wanted to prove she was the better friend. And so I had to watch you leave. When I called your name, Sally left.”
Sara rubbed her temple. It was hard to imagine another personality living inside one’s head. “This has happened before. You were on the ledge the day we met. Did Sally send you out then?”
Bea shrugged. “I agreed. It was like a dare. But you were hurt. So I had to help. Even then, I knew you were different.”
Wendell blew out a breath, “Amen to that.”
“Stay out of this,” Sara said.
“Can’t. I fell.”
Sara gave him a lingering stare before turning her attention to Beatrice. “I’m not special.”
“But you are! You’re alive. You do exciting things. That’s what I want to do.”
Sara touched her hand. “You will. I promise.”
“You can’t promise,” she whispered. “You won’t be here.”
She’s right. I said I was leaving.
It all came down to this. She could take the sure road, live with her aunt and uncle, and give up her child. Or she could stay and find a new and different path to follow. Start fresh. But could she free herself from the past?
Sara lifted her chin. “I’m staying.”
Chapter Fifty
Sara lay on the bed with her foot elevated on two pillows. Mrs. Eisner stood with a pair of tweezers and a sewing pin scrutinizing her scraped ankle. All the larger wood fragments were pulled. Now, it was a messier process of digging into the skin for the smaller pieces. The extraction of these tinier splinters hurt more with the matron pricking her skin with the needle. “Your leg is looking better now.” Mrs. Eisner said, snaring an elusive bit of wood.
“Aww. Are we close to finishing?”
“Quit complaining. Just a few left.” More sharp stings and the matron held the last tiny splinter up like it was a prize. “That’s the one I was looking for. Now, some salve and a bandage.” The matron rubbed on some ointment. “The wrap should help the salve draw out any splinters I might have missed.” She pinned the binding in place.
“Thank you, Mrs. Eisner.”
“Think nothing of it, child. I hope both you and Beatrice have had enough adventures.”
“I certainly hope so. Is her shoulder okay?”
“Her shoulder is bruised and battered. A simple job of re-bandaging. I’d suggest rest for the two of you, but we have a lot of cleaning to do.”
“I don’t think I can rest. The entire house needs a good sweeping.”
“Do what you can,” Mrs. Eisner said. “I have one more patient to examine.”
“Mr. Krause was gracious to have you look after us first. Of the three of us, his injury looks the worst.”
“Probably so. There now, you’re fixed up for now. I’ll look at your leg again tomorrow. Now bring a pan of hot water to the dining room. I’ll stitch the commissioner’s leg there.”
“Yes, Mrs. Eisner.”
Sara found Wendell sitting in the dining room with his injured leg propped on another chair. He held a wet cloth to his lower knee. “Has the bleeding stopped?”
“Still oozes a little and it throbs like the dickens.” Wendell peered at her. “I still can’t get my mind around what just happened this morning, and what we should do about it.”
Sara drew back. “Why should we do anything?”
“You may be right.” He pursed his lips. “Still, the question won’t go away.”
“Maybe you should be more concerned about your leg. I’ll be back in a few minutes with some hot water. Be prepared—it will sting.”
“Anything to ease the pain.” He squirmed a bit. “Don’t go far. There’s a decision about Beatrice Mullins I have to make, and your thoughts on the matter will be important.”
A judgment about Bea? She went into the kitchen to heat the water. Did the commissioner have the authority to make such decisions?
The matron was with Wendell when she returned. She left the hot water and returned to the kitchen. Rounds still had to be done, and Wheatley was nowhere in sight. She loaded the dumbwaiter with filled pitchers, tin plates, and leftover cream of wheat. Then knocked on Bea’s door. “Come out, Bea,” she called. “You and I need to get breakfast for the residents upstairs.”
Bea opened the door, peeking through a crack in the door. “What about Patrick?”
Thank goodness she is still talking. “No time to find him. I’ve got the food loaded. Let’s get moving.”
Upstairs, they pulled up the elevator and loaded their cart. “With everyone in the hallway, breakfast rounds will go faster.”
“I’m glad you stayed, but why are we in such a hurry?”
“I’ve a hunch Mr. Krause doesn’t understand how important your work is. You need to tell him how good it feels to work. I can help, but it has to come from you.”
“Is he wanting to turn me out?” Beatrice cringed. Water from a pitcher dribbled to the floor.
“Not sure, but we can’t let that idea take hold.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. Isn’t it easier to let things happen on their own?”
“Even if that’s not what you want?”
Beatrice shrugged. “What can I do?”
“Defend yourself by proving your worth. Working here is a good example. We may have to argue the point today, so be ready.”
They worked their way through the scattered beds and chairs. Some of the patients were still groggy from sleep, but most were awake and hungry. Even Mrs. Hiebert seemed more energized by the buzz of voices in the hallway. “I know the storm was dreadful, but I hardly noticed it with so many people around.”
“Would you like some breakfast, Mrs. Hiebert?”
The dying woman barely shook her head. “A little water, though. I’m thirsty all the time.”
Bea poured some water in a tin cup. Sara slipped a straw between the older woman’s lips. “Will I see Patrick today?” she asked.
“Of course, you will,” said Sara. “The storm has disrupted our routine, but we’ll get that fixed by this evening.” It sounded plausible.
Forty minutes later, Sara lowered the bed for a patient. Bea took the cart of dirty tins to the dumbwaiter for cleaning. Catching up on laundry and sweeping dust will demand a big chunk of time in the coming days. With the on-going needs of the residents, it was hard to imagine where to begin the formidable task of cleaning after the storm. Behind her, the steps creaked.
Gloria Eisner stood at the top of the banister. “You and Beatrice are to come to my office immediately. Before the commissioner returns to town, he wants to sort out what happened this morning.”
“if this is about Bea, can it wait? We have a lot to do here.”
Mrs. Eisner narrowed her eyes. “He’s cancelled his morning meetings.” She bowed her head for a moment. “I’m not sure if this meeting is proper, but his is the commissioner for relief programs in this county. We must defer to his judgment.”
We’ll see about that.
The conference started at eleven that morning. James Eisner leaned back against the rear wall in his chair. Mrs. Eisner wrote some notes in her giant ledger while Sara and Beatrice sat in nearby chairs.
Wendell stood facing the group. “We must understand the reasons behind this morning’s events. Why did the resident Beatrice Mullins exposed herself to danger on a high ledge? Was she a danger to herself? A county farm is no place for possibly suicidal behavior. The question before us is to decide whether the resident remains here until closure, or should we move her to a hospital that can treat her condition?”
James plopped his chair down on all four legs. “I can nail the shutters clo
sed and push the bureau upright again, then put a hasp and padlock on the ceiling hatch. That should be enough to keep her or anyone from climbing into the attic.”
“Can we get it done today?” Wendell asked.
“I’ll need to pick up the hardware when I run into town for new seed. Hopefully, the county won’t mind footing the bill. The duster wiped out all our work this spring. We will have to replant. Another concern is the amount of dust that’s collected in the attic. We should sweep it out. I’ve heard of ceilings collapsing under the weight of too much dirt.”
Wendell frowned. “Do what needs to be done with the attic. But new seed is out of the question. We’re selling this land in four months. Sorry Jim, the new owners will have to replant.”
James stood up. “I can’t let the land go fallow. Something needs to hold the ground together. That’s why the damn dust is blowing in the first place.”
“I don’t think the other commissioners will accept that.”
James hooked a thumb, pointing backward over his shoulder like a man hitchhiking. “Fallow land is worthless. You’ll get more for your auction with crops growing.”
Wendell rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you’re right. Tell the clerk at Claasen’s the county will be good for the bill. I’ll remind the other commissioners they wanted the farm in salable condition. It won’t make them happy, but it’ll keep them quiet.”
“I better get going.” Eisner stepped to the door. “It’d be a shame to drive into town and find supplies out of stock. By the way, if it makes any difference, I think the kid should stay. She’s never been any trouble. I can think of a few questionable things I did when I was eighteen.” He tugged down his hat brim and left.
Wendell shut the door and regarded Beatrice. “My next questions are personal ones. Can you tell us why you were in the attic today?”
Sara rose to her feet. “I can explain.”
Wendell held up a palm. “I’d rather hear it from Miss Mullens.”
Bea looked around. “Sally told me to. She’s my friend. Or was. She’s been with me a long time.”
Wendell stood before her. “When did you first notice Sally?”
“It’s hard to remember. Sometime after Papa put me in the children’s home. Sally told me never talk to others. Friends couldn’t be trusted, but she would protect me.”
“Did you speak before Sally came to you?”
Beatrice closed her eyes for a moment before answering. “When I was little, I sang and played with Mama. When I found her hanged, I turned silent. Papa said Mama was melancholy, and I’d be the same way. The children’s home could help me, he said. When I arrived there, the other girls whispered that I was touched and stayed away from me. Sally told me I didn’t need them.”
“How old were you then?”
“Six.”
Wendell paced several steps. “Why did Sally send you to the attic today? Did it have anything to do with Sara leaving?”
“Sally wanted to show she was the better friend by having me watch Sara leave.”
He bent forward. “Why was that important?”
Beatrice swallowed. “She didn’t like Sara. It was okay when we worked together, but we couldn’t be friends. Sally thought Sara acted the princess to hide her failings. ‘Just you wait,’ she told me. ‘Her majesty is bound to slip up. And when she does, she’d fall apart.’ When Mr. Evans died, Sara wanted to leave. Sally called Sara a weakling.”
Sara bit her lip but remained silent.
“Did Sally want you to jump?”
“Not today.”
“But in the past?”
Bea stared at the floor. “It’s hard to explain. Sally is—was—tough. And she could be bossy. She liked to goad me into doing scary things. Sometimes she came to my rescue. Today she didn’t. I felt helpless. My slate was lost, and my friend was about to leave forever. I had to stop her.”
“You called out.”
“I broke Sally’s rule. Never talk.”
“And by calling out Sara’s name, you chose her over Sally.”
Bea stared at the floor. Sara grasped the smaller woman’s hand.
Wendell bent over, hands on knees, before Beatrice. “Is Sally still with you? Is she listening to our conversation?”
Sara jumped to her feet. “That’s enough! Bea has gone through a terrible ordeal. Let her rest.”
Wendell straightened. “Stay out of this. We need to know if this house is the right place for her. Beatrice may be better off in a state hospital or even an asylum back east.”
Sara stepped forward. “Her place is here. She has friends, and she helps in the infirmary. Check your records. If those doctors in Baltimore knew so much, why did they send her to an orphanage in Kansas City? They have nothing to offer her. We do.”
Wendell raised his brows. “That’s patient information you’re not privileged to know.”
Mrs. Eisner cleared her throat. “That was my fault. I didn’t see the harm in telling Sara about Beatrice. I wanted the two to be friends.”
Sara placed her hand on hips. “It’s not important how I know. Why should you assume that doctors, who’ve never met Bea, know more than we do? Come to that, what gives you the right to decide?”
“I have to bring these questions up. We need to look at our options.”
The urge to stomp her foot was overwhelming. She leaned forward keeping her words low. “I wonder if you even have the authority to send Bea away. The simple truth is this: Bea is better off here, than among strangers. Doing that would be heartless.”
Wendell stepped back, bumping the door. “You’ve made your point. Now, sit. One more remark and you’re dismissed from this room.”
Sara glared at him as she sank to her chair.
Mrs. Eisner laced her fingers together. “I believe the Commissioner has a point. Let’s suppose Beatrice stays. What if she hurts herself in the future? Would you be able to live with that, Sara?”
“But she wouldn’t hurt herself!” Sara’s hands balled into fists. “She didn’t jump. When the shutter struck her, she hung to the ledge for dear life.”
“Enough. I still need an answer.” Wendell crossed his arms, caught himself and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Beatrice, is Sally still with you?”
Sara drew in a breath through clenched teeth.
“She’s gone.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
Wendell blinked. “Will she come back?”
Bea shook her head. “I don’t think so. It feels quiet.”
“Incredible.” Wendell squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead. “Mrs. Eisner, do you have any suggestions?”
“I think we should accept what Beatrice says. Call it a miracle and leave it alone. To be on the safe side, she should room with another resident. If this phantom should return, we will have to reconsider the state hospital.”
Sara touched Bea’s arm. “She can room with me.”
“I’d say this problem is solving itself.” A hint of a smile slipped across the matron’s lips. “Mr. Wheatley should have dinner just about ready. After that, we have a lot of cleaning to do.”
Wendell dismissed the meeting.
Sara stood in the hallway with Beatrice. “We should get back upstairs. Anyplace is better than staying down here.” Footsteps came from behind. The voice of the last person she wanted to hear from spoke in her ear.
“Come with me. We can get your bag from the station wagon. Now that you’re staying, this will work out swell.”
“I can get my own bag.” Despite not wanting to be near him, she found herself walking to the entrance. She stared at him sideways. “We have nothing to talk about. You went too far in pushing out Beatrice.”
Wendell frowned. “Those questions deserved answers. I consider it part of my job to made an ironclad decision. An extraordinary event occurred this morning, and someone may ask how later how we handled it. Both Mrs. Eisner and I will write a summary of what h
appened. Believe it or not, I was on your side the whole time.”
Sara shook her head. “You were ready to send me out of the room so you could grill Bea even more.”
“That was a warning for you to calm down. You were pushing your point pretty hard in there.”
“I did it to protect her. I don’t like people threatening my friends.”
Wendell sighed. “Your stubbornness is losing its charm. Can we talk about this later? I have great news. It’s about that special job I mentioned: it might even be a career.”
They reached the entrance and walked down the steps to the back of the station wagon. Instead of taking the bag, Wendell grasped her hands. “I recommended your name to the program head for this area. The job is screening clients for a federal project called the Works Progress Administration. Roosevelt will pay people to work. Your job would be to interview eligible workers and pick the ones who most need a job. You’d get your own desk and a secretary. The position is practically yours, and there’s a good chance for advancement. Please tell me you’re interested.”
Sara pulled her hands away, seized her bag, and picked her purse off the ground. “I’ve just committed myself to helping a friend, and now you want me sitting behind a desk and passing judgment on one poor person over another?”
Wendell passed a hand across his forehead. “You’re missing the point. There’ll be guidelines, sure. But you’ll be in a position to shape those guidelines. The program will help thousands—millions—of families to make ends meet. It might just get this country moving again.”
Sara’s expression hardened into a pensive frown. She took a step toward the house. “I have to go.”
“Why are you turning it down?”
Listen to me. Was it really possible he didn’t understand? “My job is here.” She turned, going up the steps.
“Can I call on you later this week? A movie on Friday? I promise no sales pitches.”
“I don’t think so.” Sara reached the door and made a half-turn. “Goodbye, Wendell.”
He rasped out a breath. “I don’t get it. What happened? To us?”
She turned to face him. “It’s not you. Not all of it. You cannot imagine what the last week has been like. I need time to sort out my priorities.” She turned away, opened the door, and disappeared.