Читать книгу Up the Hill to Home - Jennifer Bort Yacovissi - Страница 12

Midday, Passion Sunday,

16 April 1933

The day started as a soft, cool spring morning with a pale blue sky and transparent wisps of clouds. After breakfast, changed out of church clothes, the children stormed out of the house into the warming day and a sky of stacked, sculpted cumulus clouds, edged here and there in gray. Emma brings Tommy down after his nap, freshly diapered, and puts him on Lillie’s lap as she sits on the garden bench. Lillie nuzzles the top of his head, his hair still warm and tousled from his nap, and breathes in the scent of soap and innocence that babies exude. He alternately tugs at the covered buttons of her blouse and chews on his fist, drooling with the latest erupting teeth. She watches the children urging each other higher on the swings, or playing tag through the yard, and notices that the wind is picking up.

Charley somehow convinces Francie and Charley Boy to abandon tag and help him assemble some lattice for the vegetable beds. Every so often she hears his voice through the general ruckus: the Swede saying, “Vas dere any pie in de vagon?” or another rough-sounding character, “Hey, lady, there’s a hole in your stocking!” accompanied by his own uproarious laughter. She knows without seeing that Francie and Charley Boy roll their eyes at each other with every freestanding punch line. Emma has already reeled Margaret and Eleanor back inside to try to catch up on the loads of laundry missed this morning. It should be Lillie in with Emma, but Ferd, seeing that she isn’t feeling well, volunteers the girls and himself as her stand-ins, which simply makes her feel worse. Thank heavens Chloe is here tomorrow. We’ll be back on schedule in no time.

Jeanie wanders over, frustrated with the game she doesn’t quite understand and keeps losing, and grasps onto Lillie’s skirt, leaning back and then pulling herself forward. Tommy is entranced by this, and Jeanie starts blowing bubbles at him each time she pulls herself in close. Tommy just goggles at her as he continues to chew on his fist.

Lillie observes this with a quiet smile, but all she can think about is finding a comfortable position and being able to catch her breath. The solidness of Tommy leaning against her is just making it worse. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, and turns her face toward the freshening breeze.

Ferd comes out of the house lugging the first load of wet sheets to hang on the clothesline; when he glances over, he sets the basket down and goes to her. “Lillie?”

“Ferd, why don’t you take these two, and I’ll start hanging the laundry.”

He leans over and takes Tommy from her. “Are you sure?” She nods as he continues to scan her face. “You look pale.”

“I think I just need to stand up and stretch.”

Ferd tucks Tommy under his arm like a football, which always makes the baby gurgle with a drooly laugh, and guides Jeanie away with a gentle hand at the back of her head. “Why aren’t you playing tag?”

Jeanie pouts. “They’re mean. They said I was too little to play right.”

“Well, let’s just go see about that.”

Lillie almost groans as she stands up from the bench, and pauses again to take stock. Her ribs are just as sore as everything else, but no more so, and they all feel sound. But she needs to rethink the wisdom of trading children for laundry as soon as she bends to grasp the first heavy, wet sheet. Hanging laundry is a chore in the purest sense of the word, but it’s something she regularly handles without assistance. Now she realizes that she isn’t going to be able to do this.

Charley glances up and sees Lillie struggling. “Charles, wipe your hands and go help your mother with the laundry. Frances, you too.”

Lillie is glad for the reinforcements. She has Charley Boy grab the other side of the sheet, while Francie hands them the clothespins. The wind has truly kicked up by now, making the sheets even harder to handle. They are on the third one when the first fat raindrops start to fall. This time, Lillie really does groan, knowing how far behind this will put the household before the week has even begun. Charley starts to herd the younger children toward the house, and Ferd hands Tommy back to her so that he and the two children can take the sheets down again and wrestle the basket back inside. As she hurries to the house, Lillie looks back at the dark, swollen clouds, surprised that she has not seen the storm coming.

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Surviving a rainy Sunday afternoon in a houseful of thirteen people takes skill and cunning. The best strategy is to get as many children as possible up into the attic, where there are endless objects to rifle through and games to make up: forts to build out of old furniture and blankets, clothes to try on, odd equipment in wooden cases to wonder at. Emma sends Margaret and Francie up to keep an eye on the little ones; Ferd carries Jeanie up the ladder and puts her directly under Francie’s care. Then he, Eleanor, and Charley Boy take the wet laundry down to the cellar to hang on the lines down there. It’s not an ideal solution, since the laundry always picks up the dust and dirt that permanently hang in the cellar air, and the faint scent of coal dust, mold, and something feral like cat urine or mouse droppings. But it is far better than allowing the wet sheets and clothes to molder while waiting for nice weather. In the kitchen, Emma and Charley work together to complete preparations for Sunday dinner. The roast has been in the oven since just after breakfast, and while Charley Beck prepares his legendary sauerkraut, Emma visits the work crew in the cellar to bring up the last of the green beans they canned in the summer. The early season vegetables and fruit are already starting to grace the dinner table, a wonderful gift after a winter of preserved produce, but she may as well clear the shelves of last year’s inventory.

Ferd leaves Eleanor and Charley Boy to finish hanging up the smaller items and goes to look for Lillie, who is notably absent. He finds her in the quiet parlor, just as she finishes nursing the sleepy, heavy-lidded baby.

“Can you take him upstairs for me?” she asks quietly. “I think I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.” She breathes in deeply and coughs.

He looks at her as he cradles his sleeping youngest child—youngest for now. His voice drops low. “Is it the baby?”

She startles before she realizes the source of his concern—that perhaps she is at the start of another hard pregnancy. Most go smoothly, but a few have been difficult. “I’m just not feeling like myself today. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.” He continues to look at her, unconvinced. “Truly, dearest.” Resigned, he leans down to kiss her forehead, then takes Tommy upstairs to the crib in Charley and Emma’s bedroom. Lillie leans her head back into the sofa, taking long, painful breaths, and closes her eyes.

She wakes to the clamor of children and pots, dinner preparation obviously almost complete and the pre-meal frenzy in full swing. She notes that the rain has slowed to a drizzle, but that the cloud cover makes the light of the early afternoon look almost like dusk.

“Mother?” Johnny is standing beside the sofa. He looks uncertain, never before having seen Lillie nap; he rarely even sees her sit down for more than a few minutes at a time. “Gramal said I was to come wake you for dinner.”

She smiles at him, still drowsy, but the pain that radiates through her body as she shifts wakes her up quickly. When she draws in a breath, she actually makes a wheezing noise. Now Johnny’s eyes are big and scared.

She smiles again in reassurance and says softly, “Come here, sweetie,” as she takes his hand and draws him to her. “Give your old mother a kiss.” He leans in and kisses her cheek, then sits down beside her and snuggles into her as she puts her arm around him. She works to keep her breathing quiet while they sit for just a moment, but then, gently, she shrugs him out of her embrace and says, “Tell Gramal I’m not hungry. You all go ahead and eat your dinner.”

Disappointed at the briefness of the moment, he nonetheless stands up. “Yes, Mother,” he says, and then runs back into the kitchen.

She tips her head back again—it seems easier to breathe that way—but lifts it up when she hears heavier footsteps through the dining room into the parlor. It is Emma; seconds later, she is followed by Ferd and then Charley. With some alarm, Lillie realizes that the children have been left with no adult supervision.

Emma and Ferd look at her with obvious concern, while Charley hangs back a bit, rubbing his forehead hard with his fingertips. He curses himself for not having gone for Dr. Cavanaugh this morning, and for allowing Lillie to make him promise not to say anything. Well, there’s nothing for it now. He moves to sit beside her and nods once.

Lillie’s shoulders slump, but she looks up at them as she says, “I fell this morning. On the cellar steps.”

The noises of protest and alarm start almost at her second word, “Why didn’t you tell me? Are you hurt?” competing with, “I knew there was something worse going on!” Emma has been duped, and she turns her outrage on Lillie’s obvious confidante. “You knew and you said nothing?”

“Mother, I asked him not to say anything. Since I knew you would both make a fuss.” She rolls her eyes at Charley to make her point, but then wheezes and coughs, holding one side to dull the throbbing ache in her ribcage. “Beside, I didn’t hurt anything when I fell. I didn’t even sprain my ankle. I’m just sore.”

“Why have you been breathing hard and coughing all day, then?” Emma demands.

“I’ve obviously gotten a cough from one of the children. It’s just that the coughing makes it all hurt worse.” There is silence, until Lillie says, “Please go eat dinner. It’s a wonder the children haven’t set fire to the kitchen yet.” More quietly, she says, “But Ferd, can you help me upstairs first?”

Charley pats her knee as he stands up; Emma isn’t moving, but he takes her by the elbow and walks her back through the dining room. Ferd helps Lillie from the sofa, and she holds tight to his arm as they make their way through the hall and up the steps. They needed to pause on the landing for Lillie to catch her breath. Finally in the bedroom, she leans on Ferd as he eases her to sit on the bed, then he kneels down to slip off her shoes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, dearest,” she says quietly. “I just didn’t want to worry you, and I truly didn’t think it was anything. I still don’t. It’s just one thing to know you’re going to ache all over, and another thing to actually feel it.”

He looks up at her as he slips off the second shoe and she smiles at him. He wants to be stern because he is still upset with her, but cannot keep from smiling back. “Do you want to lie down?” He turns to get her nightdress from the hook, but she stops him.

“Maybe soaking in the bath with some Epsom salts will help, with both the cough and the ache.”

He helps her back up again, and into the bathroom, where she sits on the closed lid of the toilet, wheezing a little and coughing every so often, while he starts the bathwater and retrieves the salts from the linen closet. He helps her out of her clothes and into the hot bath, where she lays her head back and breathes in the steam. She coughs hard several times, but then quiets down. Ferd sits on the rolled lip of the big tub, gently stroking Lillie’s hair, which is still pinned up as it always is during the day. With her eyes closed, Lillie smiles, and feels her breath easing.

There is a sharp rap on the door as it simultaneously opens. Emma steps in, carrying the same nightdress that Ferd reached for. The immediate frigid silence between Emma and Ferd is palpable, and Lillie feels herself squeezed in the space between them. Ferd instinctively slides over on the edge of the tub, blocking Emma from Lillie, and rebuffing her calculated intrusion. To Lillie, the silence is so deep that it pulls her backward, and takes all the air with it.

“She needs her mother.”

“She wants her husband.”

Lillie slides her hand up to rest on Ferd’s; she feels him flinch at the signal, and that makes her chest hurt worse. “It’s all right, dearest,” she says, as softly as possible. Rigidly, Ferd stands, brushes past Emma without a glance, and shuts the door behind him.

Unconcerned, Emma takes Ferd’s spot on the edge of the tub and also begins to stroke Lillie’s hair. After a long silence, Emma asks quietly, “Have you passed any blood?”

“No. I haven’t noticed any.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“I know. I’ve been worried since it happened.” She is caught in a brief coughing fit, and realizes that her nose is running. Emma hands her a cloth, and they both see that it comes away dark, a sooty color. “I’ve been seeing that all day, though.” She breathes in the steam. “Well, I certainly kicked up a cloud of dust. It was almost as bad as beating the carpets!” Emma smiles back, and Lillie slides down farther in the tub. “I think this is helping a little.”

They sit in silence except for the rasping of her breath. Emma puts the back of her hand against Lillie’s forehead; it is an automatic gesture, since the heat from the bath renders any diagnosis invalid. “The cough came on awfully fast, though.”

Lillie’s laugh makes her cough. “Mother, in this household, it’s a true wonder that we’re all not sick in our beds every day of the year.”

Emma smiles. “It’s that hardy German stock. It takes a lot to keep us down.”

The water is cooling, so Emma helps her up and out of the tub and wraps her in a bath towel, just as she does when Lillie is a child. “I’ll turn down the bed for you.”

When Lillie comes into the bedroom, pillows are stacked against the headboard; lying flat with a cough only makes it worse. The linens are turned down, and Emma draws the shades. She helps Lillie in and pulls the covers up.

“I’m committing one of the seven deadly sins. It’s nothing but sloth to be in bed at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“You just need to rest up a bit. I’ll bring you some tea and the hot water bottle.”

“Thank you. But Mother...”

“Yes, darling?”

“Please have Ferd bring them up.”

Emma pauses with her hand on the doorknob, meets Lillie’s matter-of-fact gaze, and finally nods as she closes the door.