Talk of the Town

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “Oh, you remembered him from church.”

  “Not only that, but we met for lunch in the Coffee Shop last week,” Kenneth said. He moved to the bedside and laid a hand over the young man’s. “Hello, Maxwell. What’s going on here?”

  “Pneumonia,” the patient said. His voice was raspy from all the coughing. “Alice is taking care of me.”

  Kenneth smiled over at Alice. “She’s very good at that.”

  Alice slipped out of the room for a moment while the two men conversed. She could hear the rise and fall of their voices, and after a few moments, Kenneth poked his head out of the room and said, “Alice, if you’d like to join us, we’re going to spend a moment in prayer.”

  “Certainly.” Alice returned and moved to the far side of the bed. She took Maxwell’s free hand, and then Kenneth’s as he stretched it across the young man so they made a circle.

  “Dear Father in heaven, we ask that You restore Maxwell to full health and vigor. Help his body overcome this illness. We ask You to bless Maxwell as he continues his newly begun faith journey, regardless of where studies or work may take him. Thank You, Lord, for the gift of Your Son, Jesus Christ, who sacrificed Himself in Your name that we might be saved.”

  Alice’s eyes popped open. Sacrifice! Tea! She’d completely forgotten about her Lenten vow.

  “All this in Your name we pray. Amen,” said Kenneth.

  “Amen,” echoed Alice and Maxwell.

  After the minister left, Maxwell said, “Alice, I have to talk to you.” His voice sounded curiously urgent.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about the Bigfoot tracks. I—”

  “I’m back.” Louise reentered the room. “Alice, you can run down to the cafeteria now. I can sit with Maxwell while you eat.”

  “All right. Thank you. I won’t be long.” She turned to Maxwell. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to talk over the next few days.”

  Louise followed her out into the hallway. “Alice,” she said in a stage whisper. She waved a piece of paper. “I found this in Maxwell’s wallet.”

  “What is it?” Alice took the piece of paper.

  “It’s his father’s contact information. I haven’t done anything with it, but I think we should let the man know his son is in the hospital.”

  Alice nodded. “I know Maxwell wouldn’t want us to contact his father, but I agree with you. The man should be notified.” She sighed. “I’ll do it right now.”

  Louise heaved a sigh. “Thank you. I can’t stop thinking about how I would feel if that were Cynthia and I knew nothing about it.”

  Alice wasn’t surprised to see the glimmer of a tear in Louise’s eye. Her elder sister was formidable, but there was a very soft heart underneath that ever-so-capable exterior. She nodded. “His father should know. I’ll try to contact him now.”

  “Hello, my name is Alice Howard. May I speak to Maxwell Vandermitton, please?”

  “Mr. Vandermitton is on a conference call and has asked not to be interrupted.” The female voice was pleasant but firm. “May I take a message and have him return your call?”

  Alice frowned as she considered the woman’s words. “Yes, I suppose so, but you may want to give him this message promptly. His son has been a guest at my family’s bed-and-breakfast for the past two weeks. He has become very ill and this morning was hospitalized with pneumonia.”

  “Oh my goodness! That’s just terrible. Miss … Howard, was it? Let me get your name and number and I’ll see if he can talk to you.” said the woman.

  Alice, feeling somewhat relieved by the woman’s obvious concern, relayed the information and repeated what she knew about Maxwell.

  “May I put you on hold for a moment?”

  “Certainly.”

  Alice waited through a soothing spate of elevator music. Suddenly, a connection opened again and a gruff male voice barked, “What’s going on with my son?”

  Alice was taken aback, first by the lack of any greeting and second by the accusatory tone of voice. She explained who she was again and told him what she had told the assistant. “He did not ask me to contact you but I felt you should know, Mr. Vandermitton.”

  “Right, right. Glad you called. How sick is the boy?”

  “He has bacterial pneumonia, sir. His breathing is somewhat compromised, but he’s on an antibiotic now that should take care of it in a few days.”

  “So he’s not in danger of… anything?”

  “Nothing lasting.” Except parental neglect.

  “All right.” There was a pause, as if Mr. Vandermitton did not know what to say next. “Tell him I’m sorry to hear he’s sick,” he barked at Alice, “and tell him to give me a call when he gets out of the hospital.”

  Alice was so horrified that, for a moment, she could not summon words.

  “Thank you for the call,” the man added belatedly.

  “Mr. Vandermitton!” Alice rarely got angry but she was working hard to rein in the unkind words that wanted to spring forth.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mr. Vandermitton, your son needs you.”

  “I thought you said he’s going to get better.”

  “He is. But that doesn’t matter one little bit to his heart. You’ve been ignoring him for years.”

  “I… ignoring him? Miss Howard, I assure you my son does not want me at his bedside. He’s gone to school practically year round, claimed work through holidays, to avoid me.”

  “That’s almost exactly what he says about you.”

  “Look,” Maxwell’s father said with a weary note in his voice, “I made mistakes with Max when he was little. Losing his mother was very difficult for me. As a child, he looked a great deal like her. It was hard to see him and be reminded of what I had lost. I shoulder the blame for the distance that grew between us, but it’s too late to fix it now.”

  “He felt more than distance,” Alice said. “Being shuffled off to camps every summer gave him little opportunity to develop any kind of relationship with you.”

  “I traveled a great deal. I didn’t want to leave him alone with a nanny all summer. I thought he’d enjoy being with other children.” There was genuine shock and regret in the man’s voice now. “Was that a mistake?”

  “Sir,” said Alice quietly. “My sisters and I have spent time over the past two weeks with your son. He is a lovely young man, but he is very lonely. Please reconsider coming to see him. I know it would mean a great deal.”

  “I—I will.” He sounded subdued now.

  Alice gave him the hospital’s location, said good-bye and gently hung up the telephone. Her heart was racing. She’d never chastised anyone over the telephone before. It felt as if she’d done something very wrong. And yet, she had not known any other way to approach the man. You did the best you could, Alice. Whether or not her words would have any effect remained to be seen.

  She took a seat in a corner of the waiting room. Before she went down for lunch, she thought perhaps it would be good for her to pray.

  Thursday afternoon, Florence and Ronald walked into Maxwell’s room. Florence was carrying an enormous flower arrangement studded with huge stargazer lilies and white daisies. Several balloons proclaiming, “Get well,” bobbed merrily above it.

  Maxwell looked positively stunned. His color had subsided to a sickly bone-white but a flush stole into his cheeks. “I don’t deserve these,” he said.

  “Why on earth not?” Florence asked.

  “You’ve become a part of our little community,” Ronald told him. “Here.” He pulled a bundle of envelopes bound in a rubber band from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the bedside tray. “From your friends at the Coffee Shop.”

  Maxwell just stared at the pile, shaking his head. “This is… you people don’t know me at all.”

  “We think we do,” Alice said gently. “You can’t spend weeks in Acorn Hill without acquiring friends, Maxwell. You might as well accept it.”

  They all laughed, and t
he young man relaxed. But Alice noted that his thin fingers picked ceaselessly at the edge of the sheet all through the evening as more visitors came and went. Fred and Vera stopped by, bringing a pretty planter with African violets. Hope Collins came from her shift at the Coffee Shop, still wearing her uniform and bearing two blackberry pies from June.

  “One for the nursing staff, to bribe them to take good care of you,” she told him, laughing. “And one for you. Alice had better take it home this evening so it doesn’t disappear.”

  Maxwell gave her a small smile. “You’re assuming we can trust Alice with blackberry pie.”

  The women laughed, and Alice said, “Very good point.”

  Just as Hope was leaving, Jane and Clothilda came in. Louise had gone home before dinner to mind the inn so that Jane could drive over for a short visit. Clothilda insisted that she wanted to visit Maxwell too, and they stayed until seven thirty, quietly chatting with Alice and occasionally including Maxwell when he was awake. His coughing continued to shake his slim frame.

  Visiting hours ended at eight PM. Alice patted the young man’s hand, realizing how fond she had become of him. “I hope you are able to sleep tonight.”

  He nodded. “Are you coming tomorrow?” Almost immediately, he shook his head. “I understand that you’re probably too busy to—”

  “Stop,” Alice said. “Stop telling yourself that you are not important. I’ll be here tomorrow.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “See you then.”

  “Alice,” Jane called when her sister came through the front door that evening. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Alice hung up her jacket, then trudged back to the kitchen. “Hello,” she said, finding both her sisters at the table. “What a day,” she said, dropping into a chair.

  “It was quite eventful,” Louise admitted. “That poor boy. There are few things worse than being sick when you are far away from your home and family.”

  Alice shook her head. “I’m not so sure Maxwell would see it that way. From what he has told us, his home wasn’t a very happy place.”

  Jane nodded. “He’s seemed very happy right here at the inn.”

  “Yes,” Louise admitted. “He really seems to have settled in here.”

  “How is he doing?” Jane asked.

  “About as I expected,” Alice told her. “He’s still coughing, but I’m hoping he’ll be able to sleep tonight. And tomorrow he should begin to feel a little better. It’s going to take some time, though.” She yawned and covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She pushed back her chair and rose. “I must go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

  “Wait a minute.” Jane held up her hand in a “stop” gesture. “I called you in here for a reason.”

  “I almost forgot.” Louise rose, too, but she merely walked to the counter and returned to the table with a package.

  “What’s that?” Alice asked.

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Jane said. “It was delivered today but in all the excitement I set it aside and completely forgot about it until just a little while ago.”

  “We wanted to wait for you,” Louise told Alice.

  Alice leaned over and looked at the package mailing label. “This is addressed to Wendell!” she said, beginning to laugh.

  “Let’s take it to the parlor,” Jane said, picking up the box. “Wendell’s sleeping under the piano, and I really think it would be rude to open his mail without him being there.”

  Louise and Alice both chuckled as they followed Jane out of the kitchen.

  Alice moved ahead and snapped on the light as she entered the room. Wendell lay on his tummy, his two front paws tucked in toward his chest. He swung his head around when the three women entered.

  Jane set the box next to him, then knelt and began to stroke Wendell’s back. “You have mail,” she informed him.

  He had the good grace to look interested in the package.

  “Let’s open it.” Louise sounded surprisingly excited. “I’m dying to see what’s in it. There’s no return address,” she pointed out to Alice.

  Jane ripped away the packing tape and folded back the flaps of the box. A note card lay on a layer of bubble wrap. She picked it up, opened it and began to read:

  Dear Wendell,

  I offer my deepest apologies for taking you on an unwanted journey recently. Please accept these tokens of my esteem to celebrate your safe return. Tell your caregivers thank you for letting me know you arrived home safely.

  I hope to see you again some day.

  Yours truly,

  Lyle Jervis

  P.S. Next time I visit, I promise to keep my car windows rolled up.

  “Isn’t that sweet?” Alice found herself touched by the whimsical little letter.

  “Let’s see what’s in here.” Jane pulled out the top layer of bubble wrap. “Oh, this is pretty and so soft.” She handed a royal blue pet bed to Louise. “And look at these presents!”

  Jane took the three cans of gourmet cat food. “Fish, chicken and lamb. Wendell will be thrilled.

  “And look at this.” Jane held up a long, slim plastic stick. Attached to one tip was a length of elastic string with a feather dancing at its end.

  Wendell sat up, his eyes narrowing intently. As Jane gently swished the feather in the air, he began to stalk it, pouncing just as Jane tugged it backward. One claw caught and for a second the elastic stretched. Then Jane pulled it free, and the feather bounced high in the air as Wendell made a wild leap for it, landing on the floor beside the bed.

  “What a marvelous toy!” Louise exclaimed. “Our couch potato might actually get some exercise with that.”

  Alice laughed as she pulled one last item from the box. “Look, Wendell,” she said. “A catnip mouse. Oh, you’re going to enjoy this.”

  She was right. Wendell sniffed cautiously at the mouse she had tossed across the floor toward him. He caught it between his paws and proceeded to rub his face against it, then flopped down right on top of it and rubbed his whole body over it again and again. On his feline face was the funniest look of ecstasy Alice had ever seen.

  She began to laugh. “He’s acting like some of my patients do when they get pain pills. The pills make some people overly happy.”

  “I hope they don’t roll around on the floor,” Louise said, watching the cat’s antics.

  “You’d be surprised at some of the things they do,” Alice said, laughing. “I’ve seen it all.”

  “So have I, now,” Jane said. “Our cat receives a package. Sheesh.”

  “What a nice man,” Louise said.

  “Yes.” Jane was still watching the cat. “Tomorrow I’ll help Wendell write him a thank-you note.”

  Maxwell had more visitors on Friday. Ethel bustled in, shaking raindrops from her umbrella before she approached the bed. She looked a bit miffed at the size of the flower arrangement that Florence had brought, but when Maxwell evinced great pleasure in the gift certificate to the Coffee Shop tucked into her gift of miniature roses in a teacup, she seemed mollified.

  Around three, a candy striper came in carrying two more flower arrangements and a bouquet of balloons, all from members of Grace Chapel who had gotten to know Maxwell from his brief time at church and from the Coffee Shop. The room was beginning to look like a flower shop, and Alice smiled every time she looked around. Surely knowing so many people had thought of him would aid in his recovery.

  When his dinner tray arrived, Alice helped him open containers and utensils, then sat back and watched in satisfaction as he ate. It was the first time he’d really seemed interested in food since Tuesday evening. And he appeared to be coughing less as the day wore on.

  He asked her questions about the inn as he ate, wanting to know if there were new guests coming, how Louise’s piano lessons had gone, what Jane was making for breakfast.

  “How is Wendell?” he asked at one point. “He came home and I left a day and a half later. I hardly have gotten to see this marvelous feline.”


  Alice laughed. “He’s doing very well, I believe. His injuries seem to be healing cleanly.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she added, “you mentioned Bigfoot yesterday and we were interrupted. The furor appears to be dying down a good bit this week. There haven’t been any further developments, and only Florence still seems to believe it was something other than a teenager’s prank.”

  Maxwell was silent for a moment. “You never really believed it, did you?”

  Alice chuckled. “Well, I admit to having a few nervous moments when we found that huge footprint at the pond. I was sure something was going to leap out of the bushes at us. But I suppose I am too much of a skeptic. There is so little tangible evidence of Bigfoot, I simply can’t imagine that there really is a huge creature running around out there.”

  Maxwell nodded. “A very sensible view. One with which I agree.”

  A nurse appeared in the doorway then, beaming at Maxwell. “Here he is,” she said to someone out of sight in the hallway.

  The nurse stepped back and a man came in. He wore an expensive-looking black suit, a starched white shirt and a red silk tie, and he carried an overcoat across one arm. He had steel-gray eyes and a long, thin face and… he looked like Maxwell, Alice realized.

  The young man had fallen silent. He was staring at the new visitor as if he was seeing a ghost. “Father?”

  “Hello, son.” He stepped closer to the bed and held out a slim, flat package. “I brought you a book. It’s a first edition of the first published paper of Sigmund Freud, in the original dust jacket.”

  “Really?” Maxwell sounded surprised. “Thank you. I’m interested in psychology. It’s my area of study.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  His father nodded. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. I’m on antibiotics.”

  The two stared at each other for a suspended moment. Alice cleared her throat and rose. “I believe I’ll go down to the cafeteria for some tea,” she said to Maxwell.

  “Oh, wait,” the young man entreated. “Alice, this is my father, Maxwell Alexander Vandermitton, Junior. Father, this is Alice Howard. Alice and her sisters run the inn at which I have been staying.”