Until June

by Barbara M. Britton

  Mr. Chambers came into view.

  “Mr. Chambers, do come in,” her mother said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you at such a difficult time.” Mr. Chambers rotated his hat in his hand like a waterwheel.

  Ushering their guest to a small sofa, her mother struggled to get seated in her lounge chair.

  “I’ll heat some water for tea,” Josephine said, leaving Ann and her mother to accept Mr. Chambers’s condolences and answer any further questions about Ivan.

  When she returned from the kitchen, she sat in a chair next to the loveseat. Mr. Chambers gave her a friendly nod all the while rubbing his palms together as if winter had set in. What had brought him out to the row houses so late?

  “I don’t mean to be forward.” Mr. Chambers cast a glance in her direction. “I came about my son, Geoff.”

  “Oh.” Josephine pictured Geoff’s fragile state. Did she leave something in his room? Give him pills the doctor counted? “I hope nothing has happened?” She tried to keep her voice from cracking.

  Mr. Chambers shook his head. “Geoff is going to be taking up residence at the Gilbertsens' hunting lodge on Douglas Island for the winter. We thought it would be best for his health.”

  “I hear the lodge is very nice,” Mrs. Nimetz said, edging out of her seat.

  “It is,” Mr. Chambers agreed. “Mr. Gilbertsen updated the plumbing before he died. Montgomery Ward mail order, I think. Being on the island will shelter my son from the influenza. It’s only a matter of time before the sickness comes here. In his state, we can’t risk an illness.”

  “I didn’t realize he could live alone,” her mother said encouragingly.

  “He can’t. He needs a caregiver.” Mr. Chambers paused. “I know it’s a sad time for your family, but Josephine spoke of her experience with the Gilbertsens. And Mrs. Gilbertsen has sung Josephine’s praises. It seems she was a superb junior nurse when Mr. Gilbertsen was ill, and I am in need of a nurse.”

  “My sister is not a nurse,” Ann corrected.

  “Close enough.” Heat rushed to Josephine’s face. “I assisted Mrs. Gilbertsen when her husband had pneumonia. They stayed in town to be close to the doctor, but I cared for his day-to-day needs.”

  Her mother’s brows V’d like a flock of gulls. “Josephine helped, though she came home at night.”

  Mr. Chambers leaned so far forward she thought he was going to pray on bended knee.

  “Geoff needs daily care. I would compensate your daughter well Mrs. Nimetz, at least one and a half times your husband’s salary, and it’s temporary. Geoff will come home next summer. God willing.”

  “Absolutely not,” Ann commanded everyone’s attention. “With all due respect, Mr. Chambers, I hear your son is shell-shocked. That lodge is on the other side of the island. What if there’s an incident?”

  Josephine bristled at the insult to Geoff. He could be difficult, but he didn’t seem crazy.

  Mr. Chambers rested his elbows on his knees. He stopped wringing his hands, and instead, laced them into his graying brown hair. “I assure you, Mrs. Nimetz—”

  “Geoff is in his right mind. I met him this morning.” Very early this morning. Josephine stood and crossed her arms. She would not see Mr. Chambers humiliated by Ann’s run-amok mouth. “When did you say the position ends?”

  “June.” Mr. Chambers’s voice rose like an Easter hymn. “We expect Geoff will come home then.”

  “She is my youngest,” her mother said. “Who will help me sew?”

  Ann rubbed her mother’s back.

  Josephine glimpsed her mother’s arthritic hands curved in unnatural ways. She didn’t help her mother sew; her mother helped her tailor dresses and suits. With the new department store in town, business had evaporated. She turned to Mr. Chambers. Indebtedness swelled in her chest. The Chambers had taken care of her after her fall. Could taking care of Geoff really be that bad? “Until June you say?”

  “Only ’til June,” Mr. Chambers said. His fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve. “Very few people who meet Geoff visit again. You did,” he added softly.

  An acceptance caught in Josephine’s throat. Ann was capable of taking care of her mother. The money would cover expenses, even the cost of her mother’s medication.

  “I would be forever grateful to you, Josephine. Mrs. Prescott is too busy to take care of Geoff while performing her household duties. And the stress on my wife and young son…” Mr. Chambers stopped to compose himself. “Bradley is only ten. My wife doesn’t think Geoff’s situation right now is appropriate for a young boy to see. I had other arrangements made, but they fell through. I don’t know what else to do. I’m at a dead end.”

  Josephine’s pulse raced. Red, itchy blotches erupted on her hands. Her family waited for her answer as if she was declaring the war to be won.

  “What about us?” Ann asked, filling silence. “My sister would be leaving the family business to take care of your son. She is almost eighteen. People will talk. And we are already dealing with enough gossip.”

  Her mother nodded. “It has been difficult for us.”

  Mr. Chambers addressed her mother. “I assure you; I will use my status in this community to suppress any slander against Josephine or your family. People who understand my son’s injuries realize he is not out chasing women.”

  If that wasn’t an understatement, she didn’t know what was. Geoff sprinting? Josephine tried to glean any indication of her mother’s wishes before replying to Mr. Chambers. Her mother’s face was as plain as bed linen.

  She turned toward Mr. Chambers. “I have taken care of someone who was ill, but pneumonia is different than your son’s injuries,” she paused not wanting to say anything too personal about Geoff. “The salary is generous.” She faked a charm school smile as her mother’s words came back to her about taking much-needed medication, ‘only at night.’ Not anymore. Was she out of her mind?

  She cleared the cobwebs from her throat. “I accept. At least I won’t have to sneak a peek at the fashions in Mr. Rickteroff’s store window to see our competition.”

  The grooves in Mr. Chambers’s forehead vanished. He shot to his feet and grabbed her hand. “Thank you,” he said, hugging her briefly. “My family is in your debt.”

  Josephine’s mother settled back in her chair and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “You are a man of great wealth,” Ann said, diverting Mr. Chambers’s attention. “Surely, doubling my stepfather’s wages is the proper thing to do for Josephine and our family?”

  “Very well. Your sister does have experience with the infirm. I’ll send the car for her in the morning.”

  Josephine’s mind spun like a top. “I’ll need time to say good-bye. And finish a customer’s blouse.”

  Mr. Chambers clasped Josephine’s hand in his. “One o’clock then?” He slowly released his grip. “I won’t forget your sacrifice.”

  Josephine nodded. “I will do my best.” She hoped that would be good enough.

  Her mother accompanied Mr. Chambers to the door, sending regards to his wife and sons.

  Josephine’s stomach hollowed as if Mr. Chambers had snatched her confidence before fading into the night. She recalled her encounters with Geoff Chambers. A chilled night shiver wracked her bones. If only Ivan hadn’t gambled his paycheck. If only her mother hadn’t been arthritic. If only she had earned some of Mr. Chambers’s money before Ivan had need of it.

  Her mother wrapped her in a hug. “You are special, my blessing,” she whispered. “With your position, our family will make it through this nightmare.”

  Josephine embraced her mother and buried her face in her mother’s braided hair. Will I be able to make it ’til June? Will Geoff?

  She didn’t want to leave her mother and sister, but she didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Chambers. Her stitches ached as she remembered her fall in the woods. The Chambers had taken her into their home and tended to her injuries. How could sh
e refuse to take care of their son? Her own compassion had brought her face to face with Geoff. And Geoff did need a nurse. Disappointing Mr. Chambers would weigh upon her heart. Disappointing Mrs. Chambers would cost her a customer. Her best customer.

  The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like death was the only way she could get out of this arrangement. Geoff Chambers’s death or something short of her own.

  5

  At 12:55 PM the following afternoon, Josephine paced by the door with her sewing basket and a pair of boots in hand. Ann carried the embroidered bag that held her clothes and toiletries. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, lips quivering, trying not to break down and cry.

  With every measured step, Josephine convinced herself she could do this job. Geoff was immobile and slept most of the day, just like Mr. Gilbertsen. Geoff had an established routine just like Mr. Gilbertsen. Geoff wasn’t fond of baths just like Mr. Gilbertsen.

  When the Model-T came into sight with Mr. Hill at the wheel, Ann started bobbing like a toddler in need of a potty break. There wasn’t much to load into the car, but Ann found ample time to converse with Mr. Hill.

  “It’s only a few months,” Josephine said, trying to console her mother.

  Ann hugged Josephine good-bye. “Write if you need anything. Douglas Island isn’t too far away.” The oh-yes-it-is expression on her sister’s face made Josephine’s stomach twine into a square knot.

  Conversation halted when Mr. Hill handed her mother an envelope. It was mid-September, but Ann had coerced payment for the full month.

  She slipped into the car and rested her arm on the black metal windowsill of Mr. Chambers’s Model-T while her mother and Ann waved good-bye. Wisps of dark brown hair tickled her face as Mr. Hill sped away, merging onto Juneau’s main street. The sight of the Chamberses’ brick mansion hollowed her bones.

  Visions of popping open the door and racing back down the hill kept playing in her mind. I can do this. I have to.

  Mrs. Prescott came out to meet them, pursing her lips at the mud that had splattered on the shiny black paint.

  “Follow me, Miss Nimetz. I will show you where to put your things.”

  Josephine slung her bag over her shoulder, picked up the sewing basket and boots, and followed the housekeeper to her assigned room.

  “Is that all you brought?” Mrs. Prescott asked.

  “Yes,” Josephine said, entering the familiar room with the big, cozy bed.

  “You will need provisions for your stay at the lodge?” Mrs. Prescott scanned Josephine’s body, starting at her feet and ending with a stern expression aimed at her wind-blown hair. “Mr. Chambers has asked me to procure some items before you leave.”

  Josephine didn’t want to seem greedy or forward, but having something to pass the time when Geoff was occupied or sleeping might make her stay bearable.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, some fabric for sewing and stationary would be nice. I don’t expect to have much free time, but some reading material might come in handy. Some women’s magazines with stories.”

  “Very well, but before I leave, there are a few things you need to know. Have you ever given a shot?”

  “A shot?”

  “An injection with a needle. A syringe.”

  “No, I haven’t. Dr. Miller took care of the injections for Mr. Gilbertsen.”

  “Well, you’ll learn. The nice thing about morphine, if you make a mistake they don’t feel it for long.”

  What happened when the patient did feel the pain?

  Mrs. Prescott handed her a manual Doctor Miller had sent listing the drugs Master Chambers needed and at what times they should be given. Written at the top of the page was a stern warning never to leave any sharp instruments in close proximity to the patient.

  The housekeeper also gave her a pamphlet on wound care, a small box of recipes—Geoff’s favorites—and an address book. The instructions ended with an encouraging word to do the best in an emergency but to not take any dismal outcomes to heart.

  Josephine put everything on the nightstand by her bed, moving the pitcher and glasses to the dresser so she would have room for her instruction manuals. She sat for a moment on the bed and rubbed her forehead. How did Mrs. Prescott expect her to learn everything in such a short time?

  With company expected in the afternoon, she was ushered into Geoff’s room to help him get ready. Was this a test of her preparedness? No one was lined up at the door to take her job. She decided to do her best and pray for a miracle.

  “Well, if it isn’t the runt,” Geoff said as if he was announcing a sale at Rickteroff’s store.

  Mrs. Prescott excused herself and closed the bedroom door.

  “Hello, Mr. Chambers.” She tried to sound calm and cheerful even though her heart lub-dubbed against her chest, quaking her blouse.

  “Is my father here?” He glanced toward the door. “Call me Geoff when we’re in private. You make me feel old otherwise. How young are you anyway?”

  “I’ll be eighteen next month.”

  He snickered as if remembering a joke. “I should get paid to babysit you. Get over here, Runt, and stop standing in the corner. I’m being seen today.”

  She walked toward the bed. Geoff sat propped against the headboard like before. When she started to sit down, he grabbed her arm, pulling her face into the warmth of his wet cardboard breath. Her mouth clamped shut.

  “Don’t sit on my bed unless I show you where to sit. Lord help me if you squeeze my legs again, I might just snap your neck on accident.”

  Her eyes widened then relaxed. She didn’t dare look away. He had to believe she didn’t scare easy. But she did.

  She tugged her arm out of his grasp. “Fine.”

  “Now, go get me a pair of pants and a shirt out of that armoire.”

  Her trembling fingers rattled the pulleys on the armoire doors. She managed to find a white oxford shirt and a pair of tan pants. Force of habit, she examined the construction of the pant legs. The right leg was longer than the left.

  “What are you looking at, Runt? Never seen a pair of pants before?”

  “They’re uneven.” She positioned herself cautiously on the end of the bed.

  “I’m uneven.”

  “Why do you want people to notice that?”

  “I don’t. And stop asking me stupid questions. I can’t believe the only person my father could find to care for me is a girl who took care of an old man.” The palms of his hands shot to his head. “I own a darn gold mine and a hunting lodge, but I can’t have a proper nurse? I’m not a lunatic.”

  “I never said you were.” She emphasized her innocence.

  After hanging his clothes over the bedpost, she hurried toward the door. Pebbles of pride tumbled down her slumped shoulders. Tears pooled in her eyes from his criticism. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  She halted in front of the door but didn’t turn around. Her cheekbones warmed like a stoked fire. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her humiliating glow. Fleeing the mansion crossed her mind. Could she leave even though her service for September had already been paid?

  “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. If you want to even the pants go ahead. I have an important guest coming today, and I need you to stay.” A strangled sigh cut through the silence. “I’d like to look presentable. If that’s possible.”

  She opened the door but didn’t look at him. The air in the hallway smelled like dew-laden May grass.

  “My sewing basket’s in my room. I’ll need to iron the material afterward, so why don’t you wash up.”

  “I give the orders,” he said. “Remember that.”

  She left, grateful for the reprieve from Geoff and for sewing-related work.

  When she had finished altering his pants, she returned to his room and faced the wall while he tried them on. Grunts rose from the bed.

  “OK, how do I look?” he asked, giving his shirt one last tuck.

>   The ends of his stumps hung off the bed. She tried not to stare, but she wanted to check her hurried stitching.

  “Not bad. You should pass inspection.” She pushed the wheelchair closer to the bed. He actually chuckled at her reply.

  Geoff took hold of the chair’s arms and slowly lifted his body onto the seat, leaving blood stains visible on the bed linens.

  The scarlet streaks held her attention. “Are you bleeding?”

  “Bed sores. A curse for the immobile.” He tried to flatten a cowlick that sprung from his forehead. “Forget the sheets. How’s my hair?”

  Her nose wrinkled at the bold part down the center of his head.

  “Don’t look at me like that. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that I prefer a part to the side. It’s less harsh, but if—”

  “Fix it.” He handed her a comb from the nightstand.

  She swept his hair across his forehead and caught a whiff of his body odor. The combination of his medication and his perspiration formed a stale laundry scent.

  “When was the last time you bathed?” she asked, sweeping his brown hair behind his ears.

  His spine straightened.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “It will be.” She moistened her fingers to tackle his stubborn cowlick.

  “Are you telling me I stink?”

  “Not a stink. It’s more of a sick person’s smell. Do you have some scented shaving water?”

  “Hand me a blade, and I’ll put some on after I take off this stubble. There’s a shaving kit by the medicine box.” He snapped his fingers.

  She did not move. Her gaze danced around the room until she spied an orange on the nightstand. Walking around the back of his chair, she picked up the fruit and scored it with a fingernail. She held it to his neck and gave a quick rub.

  “Get that off of me,” he shouted, bumping her arm.

  Mrs. Prescott knocked on the door, interrupting his tantrum and announcing the arrival of Mr. Brice Todd. A stout stranger waited with Mrs. Prescott.

  Geoff wheeled his chair toward the door. “I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs.”

  She excused herself. She hadn’t thought about how Geoff or his chair, for that matter, would get down to the main floor. She made a mental note to add that to her caregiver list.