Читать книгу The River to Glory Land - Janie DeVos - Страница 14

Chapter 3

Balm to the Soul

“Are you here as a spy, Miss Strickland, or merely a guest?” inquired a voice from above my comfortable lounge chair.

My sister was sitting by me, but I guessed the question was posed to me. Pulling down the edge of my large-brimmed straw hat to shield my eyes from the sun, I caught sight of Anthony Perazzi. The slim man with the greased-back black hair wasn’t worth the risk of burning the corneas of my eyes, so I released the brim, closed my eyes and settled back comfortably in my lounge chair at Fisher’s Roman Pool and Casino.

“Now, Antony,” I emphasized dryly, leaving the h out of his name and pronouncing it in the affected way he preferred. “Do you think if I were spying I’d make it so obvious? Surely my hat isn’t enough to throw anyone off.”

“But the question is, why are you here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms across his chest.

“Because I enjoy the sun, and at the moment, the pool at the Spinnaker is being resurfaced. By the way, I hear birthday wishes are in order, so happy fortieth.” I smiled brightly, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

Much to my delight, the pool manager turned a deep shade of red under his olive-colored skin. I heard he’d turned thirty-nine the week before and was crying into his illegal beer at the speak-easy, Tobacco Road, about being on the verge of turning forty. I decided immediately that I’d poke at that tender spot whenever the opportunity arose.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m only thirty-nine!” he replied in an obvious huff.

“Close enough.” I grinned.

My comment had hit its mark. The flustered man started to say something in response, but quickly walked away instead, leaving Francine Hollister, who was sitting to my left, cackling with laughter.

“Lord, Lil, you’re gonna get us thrown out of here,” our small blond friend admonished.

Olivia, who was sitting to my right, looked more like Francine’s sister in size and hair color than I did, but, unlike Francine, she was trying to hold back her own laughter. “Sister, I’m comfortable and enjoying myself, so please don’t get us kicked out of the place. Besides, the band will be startin’ soon, and I’ve been dying to hear them. They’ve come all the way from Baltimore, and they’re all the rage there.”

“Oh, whoopsie do,” I said, rolling my eyes. “When they’ve come from New York, Chicago, or L.A., then I’ll mind my manners. In the meantime, when ol’ Antony annoys me, I’m gonna remind him he’s old Antony in return.” I changed the subject. “So, Francie, where’re we going to celebrate your birthday tonight?”

“I was hoping we could go to Joe’s Stone Crabs for supper,” she said, looking hopeful.

“That’d be lovely to start the evening, but what about afterward?” I figured our friend’s nineteenth birthday deserved more of a celebration than just some crab claws, even if they were divine.

“Hmmmm.” Her brows pinched together. “I hadn’t thought past dinner.”

“Let me think on it,” I said, removing my hat so my face could get just the right touch of color. “We’ll pick you up at five-ish for an early supper; then we’ll go someplace from there.”

“Look!” Olivia said excitedly. “There’s the band!”

I looked toward the other end of the pool and saw the musicians walk out onto the raised stage. A smattering of applause began as other sunbathers spotted them. After the band members sat, they warmed up their instruments for several minutes. Finally, the band’s leader bounded out from behind a curtain at the right side of the stage. More polite applause followed as he stood there encouraging it, dressed in a black tuxedo with his arms spread wide and baton in hand. After taking a slight bow, he turned to his band and counted aloud, setting the tempo for the wildly popular Louie Armstrong song, “Muskrat Ramble.” Immediately, couples moved out to the dance floor and fell into step, dancing the Lindy, or the Charleston.

“Ladies,” a voice said from behind us. Craning my neck around, I saw Randall “Rusty” Hollister, Francine’s older brother, walking toward us.

Rusty was a mechanic on some of my father’s speedboats, and in the last year had raced a couple of them. Though he and Francine looked a lot alike, Rusty had flaming red hair, thus the nickname. He looked like a mischievous little boy with his cocky grin and a smattering of freckles across his nose. In truth, Rusty was nothing short of a man’s man, and he could be as tough as nails if the situation called for it. I’d seen him take on a much bigger fellow than himself. The man accused Rusty of putting a crack in the propeller shaft while he worked on the man’s boat. Rusty claimed he hadn’t, and the situation almost came to blows until Daddy broke it up, telling the man to find another marina to work on his boat.

Rusty walked around to the front of Olivia’s chair, and after we all made small talk about the weather being so nice and the band sounding good, he asked her to dance.

“Oh, I…well…maybe in a little while.” He caught her off guard.

“Oh, go ahead, Olivia!” I said. “You’re a hotsy-totsy in that new suit of yours. Show it off a little,” I teased, which did not go over well. She turned a bright shade of red and her eyes flashed blue fire at me. Having no excuse not to dance with him, she threw on her new rose-colored bathing frock over her rose and gray striped one-piece jersey swimsuit, then hooked her left hand through the crook of Rusty’s right arm and they made their way to the now-packed dance floor.

“He’s sweet on her, you know,” Francine said as we watched them go.

“Lord, Francie, I know that, as does the whole world.” I laughed.

“I s’pose you’re right,” she laughingly agreed.

“Daddy’s sure glad your brother is workin’ for him,” I said, smiling over at her. “He’s talked about what good work he does, and he’s glad to have Rusty there to race his boats whenever he needs him to. He says he’s a real good driver. And with more experience, he’ll be great.”

We settled back into a comfortable silence and watched Rusty and Olivia dancing the Turkey Trot. As I watched them, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad about Daddy not wanting to race as much as he once did. There was no denying that he had a lot on his mind these days. The stress showed in the little lines that etched their way onto his face. With the decline of the economy, people weren’t indulging in expensive luxuries as freely as they had. As a result, Daddy was building fewer boats. For that reason, my parents had to reinvent the wheel to help keep their heads above water. They began hosting boat races, and as more and more national and international drivers participated, the crowds grew. Races or not, things were leaner than they had once been when Miami was flooded with winter millionaires who had more money to spend than ways to spend it.

I sat up to take a sip of my iced tea and saw Neil and Laura Aldrich step onto the dance floor. Unlike most of the young women wearing the latest one-piece bathing suits, or two-piece suits with shorter shorts, Laura still wore the old-fashioned sailor-style suit. It didn’t matter what she wore, though; she was beautiful and tiny, like a porcelain doll, which made me feel large and awkward next to her. As Neil pulled his wife into his arms and began waltzing, I settled back into my chair and thought about the summer before.

Neil arrived in Miami two days after the hurricane. He was one of several doctors summoned by Miami’s well-loved doctor, James Jackson, to assist in taking care of the hundreds of injured. Neil wasted no time in answering the call.

Most able-bodied people were helping in whatever way they could, and my family was no different. Since the kitchen at the Miami City hospital suffered great damage, we’d helped in preparing food for the patients and staff. There were so many patients— more than seven hundred in all—but only a limited number of doctors and nurses caring for them. Making matters even more difficult was the fact that the hurricane destroyed the power lines. The lack of electricity forced staff to revert to using kerosene lanterns. On more than one occasion, I had been asked to hold a lantern as a doctor cleansed and sutured a patient’s wounds, and even during nightmarish amputations.

Before the removal of a patient’s limb, I had the unpleasant task of holding a cloth saturated with chloroform over his or her mouth. The chloroform’s sickeningly sweet smell nauseated me to the point that I was afraid I’d either vomit, or pass out on top of the patient. Once, during the removal of a four-year-old’s crushed foot, I did pass out, not because of the smell of chloroform, but because of the stench of the gangrene. Almost as soon as I hit the floor, I came to, just in time to hear the surgeon heatedly calling for someone to drag me out of there. The doctor was Neil Aldrich, and he had no patience for women with weak constitutions—women who couldn’t hold up under pressure. I mumbled that I didn’t need help and stumbled out into the hallway where I promptly threw up. Afterward, while sitting outside on one of the benches, sucking on one of the peppermint sticks kept for young patients, Dr. Aldrich came out to check on me.

“It’s Lily, isn’t it?” he asked as he sat down by me.

I could do no more than utter, “Uh-uh.” He caught me off guard and I was mortified that I’d failed so miserably at my task.

“Had a little trouble in there, didn’t you?” I was too embarrassed to look up at him, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.

“I’m sorry I…It’s just—”

He finished for me. “It’s just that a little girl’s blackened foot is not only enough to overwhelm the senses, but overwhelm the heart as well.”

I finally looked up at him and saw dark brown eyes filled with compassion.

“How do you stand it? I-I don’t mean just the smell, but the horror of it all?” I’d asked.

“Honestly, a lot of the time it’s hard to stand either,” he commiserated with a smile. “But in order to help these folks get better, I have to.”

“Do you ever get used to it?” I suddenly realized this doctor was not unreachable or cold. On the contrary.

“Yes and no,” he replied. “You get used to the smells, and the sounds, and the grotesqueness of the illnesses and injuries, but you never get used to losing someone. At least I haven’t yet. And I hope I never will.”

I was amazed he hadn’t grown hard, at least not yet. He appeared to be in his early thirties, so perhaps his skin would grow much thicker over the years. For now, the faith people placed in him obviously moved him deeply.

“You’re from here, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes. Born and bred.” I smiled.

“I’m a central Florida boy, m’ self,” he volunteered.

“And you’ll go back after you’re done here?”

“Not if I can talk my wife into staying here. She’ll be down in about six weeks or so.”

It was the first time I’d heard about his having a wife and for some reason that bothered me a little. Though he was quite a bit older than I, he had a mischievous little boy’s grin and a certain refined warmth. There was no denying that he would appeal to most women no matter their ages, including me.

“You still in school?” he asked.

“No. I finished high school and I’m working at my grandparents’ hotel on the beach—Miami Beach,” I clarified.

Dr. Aldrich arched his eyebrows. “I’m surprised it’s still standin’.”

“Well, thank the good Lord it is, ’cause it’s housing a bunch of folks who lost their homes. When I’m finished here, I’ll head over there to help with whatever needs to be done today. It’s strange—and scary—how quickly things can change. Our once high-priced hotel, with full-to-capacity rooms reserved by the wealthiest folks, has turned into a kind of boarding house. We offer free room and board to any Miamian who lost his home in the storm and doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I’ve met your grandparents, and your folks, too. Just this morning, your father stopped by with a good amount of kerosene. They’re fine people, Lily. You’re fortunate to have a family like that.” The doctor sounded a little wistful.

“Where are your people?” I asked.

“My mother died in the yellow fever epidemic in Jacksonville, in ’88, when I was just four. My father passed away from a heart attack several years ago. He was living with us when he died. Just went in his sleep. He was lucky, I guess.” Dr. Aldrich looked off toward the hospital’s destroyed gardens as if remembering.

“Well,” he said, pulling his thoughts back to the present and slapping his thighs as he stood up. “I have to get back to the front line.”

I stood up, too. “I’m not due at the hotel for another couple of hours. I can stay here for a while.”

“I have to try to save two fingers on a young mother who nearly had them severed. It’s her second surgery. Then I have to suture a young man’s arm. It was severely lacerated when his plate glass window blew in. It’ll take me a while to sew that up.”

“I’ll hold the lantern,” I offered.

“Well, all right, but just keep a bucket by you in case.” He grinned. “And be sure to fall away from the patient.”

“I did. I fell sideways,” I laughingly reminded him.

“And that’s why I’ll keep you on staff,” he wryly replied as he started to walk away.

“When do you put me on the payroll?” I called after him.

“When you quit fainting and throwing up,” he said over his shoulder.

I watched the tall, slender man walk away, and I couldn’t help but think that although it was his skilled hands that could make a body sound again, it was his rich laughter that was a balm to the tired spirit.

After that day, Neil Aldrich requested my assistance during his surgeries if I was on duty. Afterward, we’d often make our way to that same bench in need of fresh air. Other times, we’d sit there to eat our bagged dinners, or have a cup of coffee during a rare lull in the activity. It was during those days of sharing both the darkness and the light that I started to fall in love with the good doctor. And when he softly kissed my lips after wiping away a wayward breadcrumb, I believed that the feeling was mutual. But, when his wife arrived in Miami several weeks later, Neil asked for my assistance less and less, and we quit meeting at the bench entirely. Finally, I told the supervisor of volunteers that I was needed more at the hotel and less at the hospital since many of the patients had been released to resume their earthly work, or to receive their heavenly rewards. As far as my injured heart was concerned, I was living a hell on earth, and I wasn’t quite sure what would release me from it.