Читать книгу Endless Chain - Emilie Richards - Страница 11

Chapter Seven

SAM’S PARENTS HAD hoped he would become a doctor. He often thought of that when he walked through a hospital doorway. No one knew how he had to steel himself to cross the threshold. He hated nearly everything inside. The institutional feel, the smell, the unrelenting clatter, the reminders of his own mortality. He wanted to lay hands on every patient and send them home. He hated suffering and disease, but his was not a healing ministry. He could only comfort with his belief that God was a constant presence. He was always moved when that turned out to be enough.

Dinnertime was near when he arrived at the hospital in Winchester where Newt Rafferty had been taken to die. Newt, a widower, was a former Community Church deacon who had resigned from the board eight months ago when his health took a turn for the worse. Claiming the grandchildren would keep him young, he had moved to Winchester to spend his final months with his oldest daughter and her family. But every time Sam made the trip north to visit, he had seen that Newt was failing.

The call to Newt’s bedside wasn’t a surprise, but Sam was sorry it had come so swiftly. He had prayed that Newt would have more years. Like so many of his prayers, this one hadn’t been answered the way he hoped.

He found his way to the appropriate floor and through the rabbit warren of corridors to Newt’s room. Several people stood outside. He recognized Newt’s daughter Gloria and her husband, and greeted them before he shook hands with some of Newt’s more distant relatives. Newt’s youngest daughter and only son were inside with their father.

Gloria, whose thin face was streaked with tears, looked shaken but resolute. “Last week he refused further treatment. He says he’s ready to die.”

Sam took her hand. “How do you feel about this?”

“He knows what he wants. It would be different if the doctors could really help him. But he’s in pain, and anything else they can do will just prolong it. It’s only...it’s hard to let him go.”

“Newt’s always had good judgment. I think he must have passed that on to you.”

Gloria reached for a tissue in her pocket. She was a striking brunette, but the past months had added worry lines where none had been before. “I know letting him go is the right thing, but it’s good to hear it from an impartial observer.”

“I’m not impartial. I count him among my friends.”

“He feels the same way. I’m so glad you could get here. The hospital chaplain prayed with him, but I know Daddy wanted to see you one more time.”

“He wants to be buried in the church cemetery. Did he tell you?”

She wiped her eyes. “We’ll do the funeral there.”

The door opened, and Newt’s other children came into the hallway. Both were obviously exhausted.

Newt’s son looked much as his father probably had at the same age, tall and scholarly. He shook Sam’s hand. “He’s resting, but you go in and wait until he opens his eyes. He asked if you were here.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“That we should say our goodbyes while we can.”

“Has everyone had a chance to see him?”

“A few old friends are on their way.”

“Then I’ll wait inside.” Sam gave Newt’s youngest daughter a quick hug. Of all his children, she looked the most upset.

Inside, Sam saw that Newt’s bed was one of two, but the other was empty. He hoped it remained that way until Newt was gone. He was relieved to see there were no machines regulating the last hours of his friend’s life. Newt had an IV in his right arm and nothing more. He was not thrashing or moaning. Sam thought he was probably deeply sedated.

He perched on the chair at Newt’s bedside and took his hand. Then he prayed silently that Newt’s death would be easy and his family comforted by the knowledge he was a good man who had led a good life.

Ten minutes passed before Newt opened his eyes. At first he seemed confused, but after Sam spoke to him a while, he focused.

“Sam?”

“I’m here. I’ve been praying for you.”

“You’re putting in a good word...or two?”

Sam managed a little laugh. “Not much need for it, but every little bit helps.”

“I had...a good run.”

“So you did. A very good one. Fine man, fine family, upstanding member of the church and community. I guess your work is finished.”

“You’ll check on my kids? Give them a call down the road...a piece?”

“I’ll tell them you insisted.”

“I’m not dying right yet. Not quite.”

“You’ve got it planned?”

“I...” Newt was silent for a little while, and Sam thought he might have drifted off again, but when he tried to release Newt’s hand, the old man opened his eyes.

“Jenkins...causing trouble.”

Sam couldn’t have been more surprised if Newt had just come back with eyewitness reports of heavenly hosts. “George? Why are you thinking about him?”

“Called last week. Calling all over.” Newt licked his lips. “Wants you fired. Trying his darnedest.”

“This is not something you should be worried about now.”

“You’ll watch out?”

“I promise.” Sam was deeply touched that in the last hours of his life, Newt was concerned for him. “It’s a good church with good people, Newt. You helped make it that way. That doesn’t mean there’s not an occasional snake in the grass, but I promise I’ll be careful where I step. Maybe I can sit down with George and have a real dialogue.”

“I didn’t know you believed...in miracles.”

Sam squeezed Newt’s hand. “What can I do for you, friend?”

“Will you say a prayer while I’m awake? I want to hear this one.”

* * *

On the way back to Adoncia’s house, Elisa took several detours. Having a car again was a heady experience. She hadn’t been able to fully explore the area where she lived and worked, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, she took full advantage. Like one of the many sightseers who came through on their way to and from Skyline Drive, she turned down unfamiliar roads, examining farms and the occasional family business that lay off the beaten path. Kennels and country veterinarians, eggs and handicrafts for sale, vineyards and nurseries.

The vineyards and nurseries interested her most. She knew men from Ella Lane often did day work in the surrounding area. They lined up early in the morning at certain locations, where they were chosen for assignments based on previous work they’d done, the breadth of their shoulders or simply their place in line. Sometimes they were paid under the table; sometimes checks were cut. Some employers paid fairly; some took advantage of the slow economy. Although the system was flawed and sometimes illegal, men who would not work otherwise were in no position to complain.

Near Woodstock, on a scenic side road, she slowed at the sign for Jenkins Landscaping. Diego had mentioned this as one of the places men often went to be hired by the hour. Now she realized the business belonged to George Jenkins, the man she had poured into the front seat of a pickup with this same logo so his son could take him home.

Diego himself had often worked here until he found a steadier job waterproofing basements. In the winter, Jenkins Landscaping employees plowed and removed snow and took down or pruned trees; in the summer, they mowed lawns and planted trees and shrubs. The amount of temporary help Jenkins needed each day depended on the weather and the demand for his services.

Since it was Sunday, no one was working or waiting outside, although several small dump trucks piled high with mulch waited in the driveway. She wondered how badly Jenkins’s head had ached Thursday morning, and if Leon had been forced to bear the brunt of his father’s bad temper.

She stopped once at a service station just outside Woodstock and parked beside a telephone booth she had used before. No one was nearby, exactly the condition she’d hoped for. She inserted the coins she’d gathered for the phone call and dialed a familiar number. When a woman answered, she spoke without preamble.

“It’s Elisa.”

She waited, swallowed disappointment, nodded as if the woman at the other end could see her. “Okay. I’ll talk to you again.” She hung up and stood a while staring across the street at a cow in a field who seemed to feel the phone booth needed to be watched.

She hoped only the cow found it so promising.

By the time she got to Adoncia’s, she was ready to rest, although with Fernando and Maria at home, that was probably not an option. She had not seen Adoncia since leaving with Sam yesterday. The family had gone on their outing with Diego and returned late, and they were already gone when Elisa, who tried to stay out of their way as they prepared for the day, got out of bed.

Now, as expected, when she walked through the door, she was tackled by both children.

“They are spinning like pinwheels,” Adoncia said. “We just got home. Nana Garcia fed them nothing but sugar all day.”

Elisa stooped and hugged them both. “Did you have a good day at work?” she asked her friend.

“If hacking chickens in pieces can be good work.” Adoncia, who looked exhausted, motioned toward the bathroom. “Will you watch them while I shower?”

“Of course.” Adoncia always took a shower when she got home to scrub away the smell of the poultry factory. The job was tiring and dangerous. The fast-moving line, sharp instruments and repetitive motion meant that many careers in poultry processing were short-lived.

Elisa played with the children until her friend came out of the bathroom looking a bit more refreshed. Adoncia fell to the sofa and towel-dried her hair. Fernando crawled up on her lap and laid his head against her chest.

“You had fun with Diego yesterday?” Elisa asked.

“We ate at a restaurant, went to a movie. The children were very good. Now, did you get the job? Is that why the minister was here yesterday? ¡Qué cuero de hombre!”

Elisa smiled at the description. Sam was remarkably easy to look at, and of course Adoncia had not failed to notice. “I’ll start training in the morning.”

“But you work at Shadyside tonight, don’t you? When will you sleep?”

“I won’t. But most of the time that won’t be a problem. Once I’m trained, I’ll have Mondays and Tuesdays off at the church, so my Monday night shift at the home won’t compete. And I’ll just have to sleep Friday afternoon after I’ve done whatever is needed at the church.”

“You think you can sleep here, with the children screaming?”

The lead-in was too good to waste. “Donchita, I’ve found a new place to live, with a woman in the church who needs a companion. She needs me; you need my room.” She held back her friend’s interruption with her hands. “It’s perfect. And now I have a car to drive, part of my pay for the job at the church.”

“You don’t have to leave. You know you don’t.”

“It’s time I did. Diego wants to move in. You want to marry him.” She watched Adoncia’s expression change. “Don’t you?”

“No, I decided today. He can move in, yes. That I want. But until we can agree about children, I won’t marry him. We’ll live in sin.” She said the last without concern.

“And you’ll practice birth control?”

Adoncia grimaced. “No pills. I won’t take them.”

Elisa knew that Adoncia’s chances of getting Diego to use a condom were about the same as getting him to run for president. “You know, not marrying him isn’t going to keep his sperm from having their own little party.”

“There are other ways.”

Elisa wondered how much reliable information Adoncia knew. This was the friend, after all, who had once rubbed Fernando with an egg to protect him from the mal de ojo, or evil eye, of a neighbor. Adoncia was extremely bright, but she covered her bases.

“I won’t have another baby so soon after Nando,” Adoncia said, almost as if she were practicing what she would say to Diego.

Elisa tried to sound casual. “My sister protects herself the way the church suggests. She has only the two children she wanted.”

“Do you know what she does?”

“Her husband wouldn’t approve, although he’s happy enough to have only two children to provide for. So she finds an excuse each month not to make love when she’s fertile.”

“And her husband agrees?”

“It’s always a very good excuse.”

Adoncia laughed. “And how does she know when to be careful?”

“Her periods are regular.” Elisa paused. “Are yours?”

“Like the sun and the moon.”

“Good. Here’s what she told me.” Elisa gave a short explanation of cycles, temperature and ovulation prediction kits. “And once you’ve calculated when you are most likely to be fertile, you don’t have sex five days before and five days afterward.”

“Ten days? Ten whole days?”

“If you want to be very careful and not take chances.”

“Diego will know.”

“I think my sister’s husband knows, as well. But he doesn’t mind.” Unfortunately, Elisa was afraid that Diego was going to mind very much, even if he and Adoncia weren’t yet married.

Adoncia sounded worried. “It will take work.”

“It would be less work to use another more reliable method.”

“No,” Adoncia said firmly.

Elisa knew that without Diego’s cooperation, this plan was flawed, at best. But she respected Adoncia’s views. This was her body, her religion, her right.

“Diego will be a guest in my house,” Adoncia said. “If I tell him we don’t make love, then we don’t. If he questions me, I will send him to sleep on the sofa.”

Elisa knew how much Diego loved her friend, and how badly he wanted children. She hoped Adoncia could keep him at arm’s length when needed.

She made supper, and afterward Adoncia cleaned the kitchen. The children fell asleep early, and Elisa managed to take an evening nap before it was time to dress for her drive to the nursing home.

When Adoncia’s thirteen-year-old minivan had been available, Elisa had also driven, since her friend was not in need of her car at that late hour. But more often the minivan rested on blocks on the side of the trailer, with some part removed by Diego for repair, and Elisa had been on her own and on foot.

The late shift began at eleven, and the roads were always eerily silent. She had never relished this walk in the darkness, although it could be accomplished in fifteen minutes. The area was still rural enough that wildlife abounded. She had seen raccoons and foxes, and once a family of white-tailed deer crossed her path, never once glancing at the odd two-legged creature trudging to work. Unfortunately, she had never shaken the unlikely notion there might be bears watching, as well. Or men with evil intentions.

Tonight she parked in the employees’ section of the lot, and enjoyed every moment of locking up and pocketing her own keys. She reminded herself not to get used to this luxury, that the car was a loan that could be taken back at any time. If nothing else, the past three years had taught her to appreciate what she had, but not to hang on to it tightly.

Inside she punched the time clock and put her purse in her locker. On her way to the central nurses’ desk she greeted staff, admiring one aide’s new haircut and accepting a cup of coffee from another who was just leaving the break room. At the desk she greeted the nurse on duty and chatted a few minutes before tackling the day log. She caught up on her unit, scanning notes from all shifts since her last and initialing the notes to show she had read them.

On her own unit, she and Kathy, the aide she was replacing, did a crossover, making sure Elisa knew everything she needed to about what had gone on before, who to watch out for and special problems she might encounter. Kathy, middle-aged and exhausted, already had her keys out. She was looking forward to a glass of wine and the several hours of reality shows she had videotaped.

“Did anyone have visitors?” Elisa asked. Visitors were never an issue on her shift, but sometimes the previous shift experienced problems settling residents after family left for the night.

“Mrs. Lovett’s daughter came, but Mrs. L. was glad to see her go, and so was I. There were a couple of others, but no problems afterward.”

Elisa didn’t look up from the small spiral notebook where she kept her own notes. “How about Martha Wisner? I saw she had visitors day before yesterday. People from her church?”

“Nobody today. I don’t think she has any family. At least no one she’s close to. But the church people come regularly.”

“I’m working at her church now, too,” Elisa said. “They showed me a quilt they’re making for her. Maybe they already gave it to her?”

“The one with the leaves? It’s really something. The ladies signed their names on the back. It’s a good way to help her stay in touch with her memories. If you get the chance and she’s up, you could ask her about it.”

“I’ll do that.” Elisa finished her notes, then said goodbye to Kathy, who couldn’t get out quickly enough. The aide liked her job, but by shift’s end she was always ready to head home.

Kathy had done rounds as her shift came to a close, but as she always did, Elisa went from room to room checking on the residents and making sure they were asleep, or at least contented. The unit was a transitional one. None of the residents here suffered from serious dementia, but none fit into the assisted living wing, either. They needed a secure unit and regular supervision. Some were returning from hospital stays and needed daily nursing care. Sadly, some were headed toward the Alzheimer’s unit, where the care was more specialized and controlled. For now, though, they were able to live with less care and fewer restrictions.

One resident was awake and insisted on a shower. Elisa helped her in and out, and laid out a fresh nightgown. Another couldn’t find a book. Elisa found it and helped her get comfortable in bed, making a mental note to come back in a little while to put the book away and turn out the light.

She was not surprised to find so many residents awake. “Sundowning” was a common enough occurrence here and nearly universal on the Alzheimer’s unit. The internal clock of many of the residents was turned around, and they preferred to sleep during the day and be active at night. Although the staff tried hard to readjust the residents’ sense of time, they were often not successful.

Halfway down the hall, she peeked into Martha Wisner’s room, but the old woman was fast asleep and everything was in order. She passed on.

Hours later, when she returned to do Martha’s vitals, she found her sitting up, staring out the window into the darkness.

Martha was a short woman, with a thick head of permed white hair, and a round face with smooth pink cheeks and furrowed brow. She was dressed in a long cotton gown, which fell straight from her shoulders and outlined neither breasts nor hips.

“Martha? You’re up awfully early,” Elisa told her. “It’s not even five a.m.”

“Is it time for dinner?”

Elisa had sometimes awakened from a nap unsure where she had fallen asleep or what time of day it was. She imagined this was the way many of the residents on this unit felt, only for them, a little light through a windowpane, a glance at the clock, didn’t solve the mystery. She could relate to the confusion and empathize.

“It’s not quite time for breakfast,” Elisa told her. “The sun will be up very soon though. It’s early morning.”

“Didn’t I just have lunch?”

“No. You had dinner about twelve hours ago. That’s why you’re hungry.”

“I want to eat now.”

Although it was best to keep the residents on schedule for meals, Elisa was also allowed to bend the rules. She was sure Martha would not go back to sleep.

“I’ll bring you cereal. Then you can eat a hot breakfast with the others later.” There was a small dining area where the residents could eat their meals together if they chose. Some enjoyed the company.

“And juice?”

“And juice. I’ll be right back.”

Elisa returned a few minutes later with a tray. She wondered if Martha would remember asking for it and was pleased to find that she did. She settled the old woman in a chair and set the tray on a table in front of her.

“Let me check your vitals first,” she told her. She used the wrist meter that measured temperature, blood pressure, pulse and respiration, and recorded the data. Then she took the cover off the tray.

“Orange juice. Good. And I like this cereal.” Martha looked pleased.

Elisa watched her pour milk from the small carton and mix it into her Special K. “How do you feel? Did you sleep well?”

“Are you new?”

“No. But I’m not here as often as some of the others. I’m Elisa Martinez.”

Martha paused, as if searching her memory. Then she shook her head. “I haven’t met you before.”

Martha’s lack of recognition wasn’t a good sign. She and Martha had spoken many times. “Well, I’ll be working at the Shenandoah Community Church when I’m not working here. I’ve just been hired to be the new sexton. You remember the church?”

Martha frowned. For a moment Elisa was afraid she had forgotten that, too; then Martha nodded her head. “Of course, and do you think I can’t remember my own name?”

Elisa smiled. “People there care very much about you.”

“They gave me something.” Martha added new furrows to her brow. “Just lately.” The furrows smoothed. “A quilt. In the dresser over there. Will you get it for me?”

Elisa found the quilt folded neatly in the bottom drawer. She shook it out and took it back to Martha. “It’s lovely. Look at the colors.” She turned it over. “And look, here are the names of the women who made it for you.” She read them out loud, coming to Helen Henry at the end. “Helen Henry. I’m going to be living with her for a while. Her quilts are beautiful.”

“I never cared for doing hand work. My mother despaired of me. But I could cook. How I loved to cook.”

Elisa tucked the quilt over Martha’s lap. “This will keep you warm.”

Martha looked up at her. “Maybe we did meet before. Or maybe you just look like somebody....”

Elisa touched her hair. “You eat your breakfast, Miss Wisner. I’ll be back in a little while to get the tray. Can I get you anything else?”

“People here are nice.” Martha went back to eating.

Elisa was glad the woman was happy.