The River Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  The next two days were just like the first. It was all a long nightmare to Jeanne, of bathing Marvel, watching her sleep, giving her ice chips, watching with sickening dread every time her fever rose and when she vomited. Dr. Eames came and went. Jeanne flatly refused to see anyone else, except when Ezra brought her food. Then she took it without saying a word. She completely lost track of time. She ate robotically, slept when she couldn't stay awake any longer. And she kept railing at God.

  On the fourth morning after Marvel had gotten sick, Jeanne started awake with a jolt. She sat up on her thin mattress, bewildered, and looked around. She had been having an evil dream, but she couldn't remember what it was, but a lingering sense of dread assailed her.

  "Hello, Mama."

  Jeanne bounded to her feet and went to the bedside. Marvel was looking up at her, and her eyes were clear, not fever-dulled. "Did you say something?" Jeanne asked tremulously.

  "I said, 'Hello, Mama,'" she replied in a weak half-whisper.

  "Oh, child!" Jeanne half-picked her up and caressed her in her arms. Her body was treacherously limp, and she could feel Marvel's rib bones right through her nightdress, but she wasn't hot. "Oh, baby, do you feel better?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm awfully thirsty, though."

  Jeanne laid her back down on the pillow and said, "I know, sweetheart. For right now you'd better just suck on some ice, okay?"

  Jeanne sat on the bed, putting small ice chips in Marvel's mouth. She was so weak she could barely lift her hands. Marvel asked, "I've been really sick, haven't I? How long have I been sick?"

  "I'm not sure," Jeanne said with an attempt at lightness. "It seems like a long, long time to me. But I think it's only been three days."

  "Where are we?"

  "We're at Widow Eames' Landing. Remember where we came after we got stuck in the swamp? Dr. Eames lives here, and he's been taking very good care of you."

  "He's nice," Marvel said. "He's got a nice smile."

  A single soft knock sounded just then, Dr. Eames' signal, and he came in. He smiled when he saw Marvel, but Jeanne noticed that he didn't seem at all surprised that she was better. "Good morning, ladies. So, I see you're feeling better this morning, Miss Marvel." He sat on the bed and took her hand.

  "I do. Can—may I have some water?" she pleaded.

  "Sure, but I want you to sip it, not gulp it, okay?"

  Jeanne fixed her a tumbler full of water and put some ice chips in it. Marvel sipped obediently, then fell back onto the pillows. "Gunness, I can't even sit up."

  "You've been very sick, and that makes you weak," Eames said gravely. "But I tell you what. If you'll try to eat, you'll get stronger. In fact, I have a little surprise for you. My mother sent you some rice flummery. She used to make it all the time for me when I was sick, and it always made me feel so much better."

  Marvel's eyes brightened a little. "Rice flummery? I like that name. It sounds fun."

  "It does, doesn't it? Now first I'm going to examine you, and then it'll be time for rice flummery." He proceeded to examine her thoroughly. She still was very pale, and her eyes were still slightly jaundiced. But her skin was cool. When he was finished he smiled at her. "No fever, and your tummy's not making angry noises like it was. I think you can have all you want to drink now, of whatever you want to drink."

  "More water, please. And may I have some apple cider? With my rice flummery?"

  "You certainly may," he answered. "Is there anything else you want right now?"

  She looked over at Jeanne. "Mama, would it be all right if Roberty and Leo came to see me? And Ezra and Mr. Vince and Mr. Clint?"

  "No," Jeanne said vehemently.

  Dr. Eames said soothingly, "Marvel, let me explain something to you. You remember I told you that you have yellow fever? Well, it's contagious. That means that other people who haven't had it before can catch it from you. I know you're better, but we need to wait for two days before we let other people come around. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir," she sighed, then she brightened. "But Mr. Clint has had it before. I remember you told me, Mama. He could come see me, couldn't he?"

  "No, Marvel, I just want you to stay in here and rest today. I'll stay with you, darling, and maybe if you feel better later we can play with your dolls," Jeanne said tightly.

  "Okay. But Dr. Eames, can dogs catch yellow fever?" she asked hopefully.

  Jeanne blurted out, "No, Marvel, I said—" She realized that she sounded like what she was at the moment—an angry, cold woman. Eames was watching her curiously. Lamely, she went on, "So, Dr. Eames, can dogs catch yellow fever? Even if the patient kisses them on the big grinning slobbering mouth?"

  He smiled a little and rose. "No, dogs can't catch it. I'll bet Leo would be glad to see you both. Just don't let him eat your rice flummery, Marvel. That dog is the best beggar I've ever seen. C'mon, Jeanne, come with me and we'll go get Marvel her food and Leo."

  Jeanne followed him to the galley, and he pulled out two stools. "Sit down for a minute, Jeanne."

  Her eyes narrowed. She had purple shadows under them so deep that they looked bruised. She was as pale as Marvel, and her prominent cheekbones stuck out sharply, her cheeks deeply hollowed beneath them. Her hair was an untidy mess, and she hadn't changed her clothes, and her blouse was soiled. She sat down jerkily. "Something's wrong. I knew it."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Eames said calmly. "I do have something to tell you; it is perhaps the most difficult thing about this disease. Marvel is better today, and she may be cured. All yellow fever patients are better after three or four days. On the next day, after what's called the remission stage, some go on to the third stage of the disease."

  "And what is that?" Jeanne asked in a choked voice.

  Evenly he answered, "It's called the intoxication phase. The patients very suddenly worsen, with fever so high it can cause convulsions and delirium. They may get nauseated and vomit. The jaundice gets worse, so the skin turns yellow."

  "And that's when they die," Jeanne said with gritted teeth. "She's better today! She has to be cured! Why would you tell me this, Jacob? What good could it possibly do? Why would you say such horrible things?"

  His gentle features were a study in pain. "Jeanne, I struggle with this every single time I have a patient with yellow fever, particularly children. If the patient is an adult, of course I must tell them, even though I feel that they are cured. But with children, if I don't tell their parents I would be criminally wrong. Surely you see that?"

  She stared at him with burning eyes.

  He went on, "I want you to listen to me carefully, Jeanne. Marvel came through this very well, considering that she is small and thin and delicate. Today she may be completely free from yellow fever. If she isn't, we'll know by morning. And even if she does go into the intoxication phase, she may live through it. Yellow fever is very frightening because large numbers of people contract the disease, all at the same time. But out of all of the people that get it, very few of them die."

  "Yes, well, it's also frightening because you may be one of the few that dies," Jeanne said sharply. "You sound as if you have no idea whether Marvel is cured or if she's still sick, and will go into this third stage. Is that true?"

  "That's true, Jeanne. I have no idea. Some patients who seem completely recovered during remission go into the intoxication phase. Others who are still jaundiced and nauseated get better, and never go into the third phase."

  Jeanne jumped to her feet and stood over him. "We're not talking about some patients, we're talking about my daughter! As far as I can see, you are practically useless! You have medicine, but it may not work. Yes, give her medicine, but no, she's vomiting so don't give her medicine. She may be cured, or she may die. You don't know anything!"

  He stood up and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I do know some things, Jeanne. I know that Marvel is in the Lord's hands, as we all are. She is calm and free from fear, and has been all through this, and that is a miracle of God. I know that she'
s better today, and she has joy in her spirit, I can see it. None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. Be joyful with Marvel, Jeanne, for this is the day that the Lord hath made."

  Her shoulders sagged, and her head drooped. "I will try," she said in a ragged whisper. "Maybe she is going to be fine. So I'll try. For Marvel."

  DR. EAMES WENT DOWN to the boiler room. Roberty and Ezra were playing checkers, with Leo sleeping by their upturned cracker boxes. Through the open double doors to the engine room he heard Vince and Clint's low voices. "I've got some good news for you," he said. Roberty jumped up and went to get Vince and Clint. When they were all together Eames went on, "Marvel is much better today. Right now she's eating my mother's rice flummery, and if that doesn't cure all her ills nothing will."

  They all pulled up boxes and sat down, grinning and sighing with relief. Except for Clint, who crossed his arms and looked thoughtful. "How's Jeanne?" he asked.

  "She's not doing too well, and I'm afraid I didn't help her much. I guess I need to tell you all, too, it seems like you're like family. But first, Miss Marvel wants Leo to come keep her company for awhile."

  Roberty jumped up eagerly, but Eames went on, "Sorry, Roberty, but Marvel still may be contagious, so you can't see her for another day or two. Better let me take him up."

  "Maybe I could," Clint said hesitantly, looking at Eames with pleading dark eyes. "I've had yellow fever, and so I couldn't catch it again."

  "I'm sorry," Eames said helplessly. "It'll just be better if I take him."

  Clint nodded and sank down on a crate, his head between his hands. Eames took Leo upstairs and returned quickly. Then he told them what he'd told Jeanne.

  "Yeah, I knew this," Clint said hollowly. "I've seen it. But chances are she's over it, right?"

  "I'm praying that she is," he answered. "We all need to keep praying for her. And for Jeanne, too. Jeanne is suffering just as much, and I think even more, than Marvel."

  VINCE, ROBERTY, AND CLINT were all sitting in their camp, a small level piece of ground on the wide slope up to the Eames house. It was situated just a few feet from the starboard side of the Helena Rose, and though they hadn't said it aloud, they all knew that through the open windows of Jeanne's cabin they could hear if she called. From the first day they docked, Ezra flatly refused to cook anything in the galley. "That there stove is sitiated right down by Marvel's head, and it's hot enough as 'tis, she don't need no quick hot cookin' fire just on t'other side of the wall. And she don't need no cookin' smells, neither, nor me a-banging around in there."

  Ezra had gotten all the pots and skillets and utensils they needed, and they had been cooking over a campfire. They hadn't had to cook much, though, for Dr. Eames' family—and they had learned that there were over thirty Eames, Franklins, and Greenes living on the Eames place—sent them enough food every day to feed them twice over. But now Ezra was in the galley, cooking up about half a dozen things he'd thought of that Marvel might like to eat.

  In the last three days Ezra had scoured the boilers and furnaces three times. Vince and Clint had worked in the engine room, oiling and tightening and testing all the parts, some of them several times. Roberty had painted all of the red trim on the boat except for the paddle wheel. Dr. Eames had brought a tall ladder, and he had climbed up twenty feet to paint the smokestacks, though the men had cringed at the sight.

  Clint said dully, "I think I'm going to paint Marvel's dollhouse and the furniture."

  Vince sighed. "At least we don't have to take the engine apart again. That's really boring, Clint."

  "Why don't you let me paint them, Clint?" Roberty pleaded. "I didn't get to make anything for it, and I want to do something for Marvel. I need to."

  "Yeah, I know," Clint said. "Okay, you paint, then." Roberty got up and ran to the boat.

  "So what do you wanna do, Clint?" Vince asked. "How about we go fishing? Dr. Eames said just around the bend there is a real good little cove with lots of minnows in the shallows and bream and bass and catfish."

  "No, you go, Vinnie."

  "No, the point is that I'm trying to get you to go. I'm trying to get you to do anything. You've been sitting around like a stump, Clint, just staring into space. You don't talk, you don't listen, it's like you're not even here."

  "I'm here," he said listlessly. "I just don't have anything to say, and I don't care what anyone else says either."

  Never in his life had Vince gotten angry with Clint, but now he was. "You're acting like a selfish little kid. What's the matter with you? Marvel's better, she may be just fine! And even if she's not, then we need to be strong and acting like men! I know you think Jeanne hates you, and maybe she does right now. But I know that she really cares for you, you big stupid ninny! No matter what happens, she'll remember that one day. So you just quit sulking and get yourself out of that hole you dug and threw yourself into!"

  A humorless half-smile twitched at the corner of Clint's lips. "Okay, okay, Vinnie, don't blow a gasket. You want to go fishing? Let's go fishing. But first I want to tell Ezra where we're going. I want to make sure they can find us if . . . if Marvel needs me."

  BY TWO O'CLOCK IN the afternoon Marvel was able to sit up in the armchair, with her legs propped on three pillows that Jeanne put down for her. She had a light quilt over her, for though the day was a typical hot August day, she felt a little cool. Jeanne constantly checked her, and it wasn't because she had fever. Dr. Eames said it was just because she was so weak and her blood was so thin.

  Jeanne set an enormous plate of steaming macaroni on the cherry side table by Marvel's chair. Leo immediately sat up and rested his chin on Marvel's lap. "Ezra says if you eat enough macaroni you get fat," she told Marvel with amusement. "So he'll be disappointed day after tomorrow if you're not a chubby little girl."

  "I prob'ly will be, if I keep eating like today," Marvel answered. "Ezra's made me so much stuff I think he forgot the whole crew's not eating it." Ezra had made fresh bread, had sliced mild yellow cheese thin and had cut the slices into funny little shapes, had made mashed potatoes, chicken broth, oatmeal, a cherry ice, fresh warm applesauce, and baked pears stuffed with raisins. Marvel was able to eat a few bites at a time, and she had eaten some of everything. Now she took three or four bites of the macaroni and sighed.

  "It's all right, darling, I was just teasing you," Jeanne said. "You eat what you can eat, but don't make yourself if you don't want it."

  "Okay. Um . . ." she petted Leo's head and looked hopefully at Jeanne.

  "You might as well give it to him," Jeanne said resignedly. "He's already sleeping in our bed and sitting in our chairs. I guess when we start eating at the dining table again, he can join us there, too."

  Marvel set the bowl down and Leo began to eat. He was a very polite eater, he never wolfed down his food. His long snaky tail began going in the funny lopsided circles that moved his whole rump. Marvel giggled a little. Her voice had grown stronger, though it was still weak. She glanced up at Jeanne, who was watching Leo with a blank expression. "Mama? Is something wrong?" Marvel asked.

  "No, no, of course not. I guess I'm just tired."

  Marvel nodded. "I know, I don't remember much about while I was so sick, but I remember you were always awake, it seemed like. I know you were worried about me, Mama, but I'm better now."

  "Yes, you are, and I'm so thankful, Marvel. I'll be better, I promise. Would you like to play with Mrs. Topp and Avaymaria?"

  "Yes, ma'am, but first may I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  Marvel cocked her head a little and looked troubled. "You said you're thankful, Mama, but we didn't have a thank-you prayer. We always have thank-you prayers for everything. I've said thank you to Jesus, but not out loud, like we usually do."

  Jeanne flew to kneel by her chair. "Oh, Marvel, I'm so sorry. Of course I'm thankful to the Lord. I guess—I guess I've just been so worried about you that I'm not really thinking straight. Let's pray right now."

  Marvel bowed her head and c
losed her eyes and began thanking Jesus for everything she could think of. Jeanne bowed her head, too, and closed her eyes, but when she heard Marvel say, "Thank you that I'm all well now, God," her eyes opened to narrow slits. She had lied. She wasn't thankful to God at all. All day she had tried to believe that Marvel was healed, but she didn't. As soon as Dr. Eames had told her about the course of yellow fever, Jeanne had gotten so fearful that she had gotten nauseated. Throughout the day that fear grew and grew, and crushed any hope she might have had. Now she was so deathly afraid that Marvel was going to get sicker and then die that it had become almost a certainty. All day desperately she tried to act with Marvel as if she was recovering, and she had done fairly well; but she didn't believe it at all.

  All she believed was that Marvel would die. And she knew that it was because God was punishing her, Jeanne, for her carelessness and selfishness. Why else would He do this to Marvel? It was the only thing that made any sense.

  And by this time Jeanne herself might have been dead, because she just didn't care.

  MARVEL GOT TIRED JUST about dark, and Jeanne put her to bed. Leo lay beside her, looking up at Jeanne with his hangdog pleading eyes, and Jeanne allowed him to stay, patting him on the head and grumbling. Marvel said sleepily, "Thank you, Mama. G'night."

  "Good night, my darling," Jeanne said, and kissed her on the cheek.

  She sat down in the armchair by the bed and watched Marvel as she dropped off into a peaceful sleep. Her expression was very different from when Marvel had been awake. As soon as Marvel had closed her eyes, Jeanne's face, as if someone had slapped her, grew tight and tense, her eyes as empty as bottomless wells. Even Leo seemed to notice, for he looked at Jeanne for a while. Jeanne whispered, almost a hiss, "Go to sleep, Leo." His tail thumped twice, then he laid down, ludicrously on a pillow just by Marvel's head.

  Jeanne sat and watched. Marvel slept. Leo slept. Jeanne's whole body was so tense she ached frightfully everywhere. As the hours wore on, her temples began to throb. Soon she had an agonizing headache. Even the low light from the single lantern on the table by her chair hurt her eyes, so she closed them.