A Tale Told

A Tale Told

“Ruth, Ruth,” Mother said. Her gentle nudge woke me. I’m not sure how long I‘d napped. Father’s arm rested on my lap.

“Follow Miss Marilyn upstairs. There’s a bed where you can sleep. You must be so tired, sweetheart.”

“Yes, ma’am, but how is Suzanna?”

“She’s doing the best we can expect. Doc is hopeful.”

Miss Marilyn led me to the bedroom upstairs. She lit the lamp and pulled back the covers while I undressed. She poured warm water over my hands in the washbasin. I soaped up my arms and lathered my face too.

“Let’s get to those feet before you put them into my nice, clean bed,” Miss Marilyn said. She bent down to put the basin on the floor, dampened a washcloth, and washed off the mud. “I don’t have a nightdress for you, but you can sleep in your petticoat.”

I crawled into bed, closed my eyes, and Miss Marilyn kissed my forehead.

➰

The sun was glowing in the cheery yellow bedroom when I woke. I looked around, taking a minute to recognize my surroundings, then quickly got out of bed. I noticed clumps of dried mud on my gingham dress that hung over a chair in the corner. I picked at them, shaking it out to get most of the dirt off before I put it over my head.

Barefoot, I tiptoed downstairs barefoot, avoiding the living room. I headed toward the Surgery. Doc Murphy was sitting in his rocker with his back to me. Suzanna’s eyes were closed, but I heard her soft breathing. Her leg was propped up in a splint wrapped in a white bandage. The vinegary smell of Doc’s tinctures and potions filled the room. It smelled like skunk weed, and it stung my nose.

Backtracking my steps, I entered the parlor where I could hear Mother and Miss Marilyn in the kitchen chatting, apparently unaware I was awake. Otherwise, the house was quiet.

Father sat in an overstuffed parlor chair, eating one of Miss Marilyn’s cinnamon rolls. A cup of coffee sat beside him on the side table. Crumbs dotted the bandages that Doc had wound tightly around Father‘s middle.

The smell of breakfast filled the room, making my stomach grumble.

“Hello, Miss Ruth. How are you feeling today?” Doc asked.

“Hungry, ” I jumped, startled to see he was standing behind me. He gave my waist a little tickle, “What are you doing sneaking around?”

Father looked up, with a smile. “How are you, Ruth?”

“I’m okay, Father.” I planted a kiss on his cheek.

I turned to see Mother and Miss Marilyn come in from the kitchen, carting platters laden with eggs and potatoes.

“Oh, good, Ruth. You’re up,” Mother said. Come and get some breakfast.”

Miss Marilyn placed dishes on the dining room table, saying, “I thought it would be easier to eat here instead of the kitchen. You won’t have to walk so far Joe.”

We all sat down and passed the breakfast fixings. The adults talked about the destruction in the storm’s wake, without a mention of Suzanna.

I had to ask, “Is Suzanna going to be all right? Please, Doc, tell me.”

“We think so, Ruth. She’s in a deep sleep right now. She’s been through a pretty terrible experience,” he said, putting a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He took a sip from his cup. “I set her leg last night, but she hasn’t awakened. It’s best she rest.”

“She was so cold we heated bricks and potatoes by the fire to put in her bed,” Mother said. “God willing, she‘ll come around soon.”

“When she’s ready. She’ll take her own sweet time,” Doc said.

“Can I see her?”

Mother looked in Doc’s direction.

“After breakfast, I guess it’ll be okay as long as you don’t disturb her and just for a minute,” Doc said. “She might like to hear your voice.”

➰

I stood there, unable to move, my breath caught in my chest, speechless. I looked at Suzanna. Her skin, like white porcelain, was almost opaque like Mother‘s delicate tea cups. My lip trembled, but I held back. I surely didn’t want Suzanna to hear me cry.

“Let me listen to her heart, then you sit with her a minute.” Doc tapped her stomach, then took out his stethoscope.

I didn’t notice any bandages, only some bruises, and a nasty purple lump on her temple besides her leg. I watched Doc, fascinated with what he was doing.

He took his time listening to her heart and lungs. He lifted her eyelids and used a mirror to check her eyes. Then he looked in her mouth and ears. He nodded in my direction with favorable news.

“You can talk to her now, Ruth.”

“Suzanna,”—I said hesitantly. “It’s Ruth. I’m okay, Suzanna. You‘re going to be fine, too.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I told her that Father had looked for us and was waiting in the next room for her to wake up.

Doc nodded. “That’s probably enough for now. Tell your Father he can come in.”

➰

Later that morning, the town rallied, friends and neighbors brought food. Señora Teresa baked a cake. People clapped Señor Abel on the back. “Good job, Abel.”  The preacher came by, too, and held a prayer meeting for Suzanna and Father, right outside on the Murphys’ big veranda-style porch. The once glum morning took on a festive air.

Jimmy and Frank were greeted as heros, folks gathered around, wanting to hear the boys tell the story.

Doc and Miss Marilyn cleaned up the Surgery and left Suzanna to sleep before they joined us on the porch. Father limped out, holding his chest and leaning on a handmade cane. People moved to allow him to get to the white wicker settee with Mother. I sat cross-legged on the painted wood floor. Father groaned as he lowered himself onto the chair.

“How are you feeling, Joe?” Doc asked.

“Hurt’s a bit,” he responded.

“Frank and Jimmy, how in the devil did you find her?” Father asked.

“Mother Bess told us you thought Suzanna would be near y’all’s diner, so we kept searching that area.” Frank said while leaning forward from the place he stood near the railing.

“We looked at the downed tree and all the ruination and thought nothing could survive there. Dark water mostly covered the porch, lapping almost up to the window frames.”

“I remember thinkin’, I surely hope she ain’t tangled up in that mess,” Jimmy chimed in.

“Jimmy and I figured she might be downstream, so we stopped rowing and let the boat drift,” Frank continued. “We searched the tangled mess of branches and debris for any sign of her. We kept calling her name until we were hoarse.”

“We covered a lot of the area downstream from the Cattle Horn. But then, I told Frank I wanted to quit,” Jimmy said. “I’d pretty much given up at that point. But that Frank was hell-bent on finding her.” He snickered. “I think he is sweet on her.”

Frank gave Jimmy a stony look and rolled his eyes.

The preacher said, “Jimmy watch your language, there be women here.”

“Yes sir.” He folded his hands. “Sorry, sir.”

“Please continue, Jimmy,” I pleaded. I stole a look at Father. He seemed cross. I don’t think he liked the idea of a boy being sweet on Suzanna, or that boy swearing either.

“Boys, just keep telling it,” Father heaved a sigh.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Jimmy reached over and patted Frank’s knee. “Well, my friend Frank here said we should go upstream one more time. He wanted to give it another chance. I didn’t see the case, but we turned the skiff around and headed upriver. We made our way across the floodwaters, searching as we went. We were past the diner when Frank noticed the water level had dropped a bit.” Jimmy paused, taking a deep breath.

His enjoyment in telling the story was clear.

“Frank wanted me to get closer to the diner,” Jimmy said. “Then I yelled, ‘I think I seen somethin’ over there against the buildin’. Isn’t that the spot where they store the firewood? Let me have a closer look. I ain’t seen that afore, I told him.’ He steered the dinghy closer then jumped off and swam over to the tree towards the diner, or what was left of it.”

“That’s when I heard a faint voice calling for help. It was Suzanna!” Frank said. He looked in Father’s direction.

“Praise God.” The preacher raised his hand heavenward.

“Hallelujah!” Others said.

“I figured, when the tree fell, she musta scurried into that cranny.”

Father interrupted with a cough, “I cleaned it before the storm so we wouldn’t lose the firewood. She must have been so scared. Heavens, I was stuck near her all night and didn’t have a clue.”

“Wouldn’t she have been screamin’?” Mother asked.

“I didn’t hear her.” Father’s eyes glistened.

“You wouldn’t have. She had a pretty good bruise on her head, and I’m sure just staying afloat wore her plumb out.” Doc said. “Especially with that leg.”

Mother rubbed her temples. “Lord knows how she found that spot in the storm. It’s a wonder.”

Someone passed a tray of Miss Marilyn’s sandwiches. Frank chose a ham sandwich. He broke off a piece and then another, eating it thoughtfully. I watched him put the last of it in his mouth.

“Frank, please go on,” Mother said. “My nerves are stretched to breakin’. What happened then?”

His mouth full, Frank carried on. “Yes, ma’am. The tree roots had lifted the porch, splintering the boards and pushing them up into the open. Limbs blocked the top of the storage area.” He swallowed and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.“Heavy branches of the tree came down near that spot. It musta hit the roof and maybe that’s when she got the goose egg.” He swallowed.

“I looked through a broken board in the pitched roof of the alcove and I could see her head. A pocket of air remained as the floodwaters rose. She could breathe, but couldn’t get out. Jimmy and me started pulling off the branches, and we pried up the piece of the broken roof to get her out.”

“She must have struggled all night to keep her head above the water,” Father said, rubbing his brow. “Lord knows what she went through.”

“When we found her, she said her leg was hurting something fierce,” Jimmy said. “And her teeth were chatterin’. She screamed something awful  when we went to move her.”

Doc leaned forward, “Wait a minute, you mean she was talking when you found her?”

“Barely, yes sir, only by the grace of God were we able to get her out.”

“Praise be to God,” the preacher exclaimed again.

“Thank the good Lord,” I echoed his sentiment.

“Together, we hoisted Suzanna into the skiff,” Frank said. “I put my arms around her and lifted her around her waist to get her into the boat.”

“But she weren’t doin’ no talkin’ after that,” Jimmy said. “She got real floppy like a rag doll. She was as pale as a cotton boll. I seen an injury like that once before, last year. One of my father’s colts broke his leg, and my papa and I had to put the animal down.”

He flustered, his cheeks colored. “Ain’t sure I should’ve said that,” he said under his breath.

“You’re fine, Jimmy.” The preacher smiled at him.

Frank continued, “We got her settled, wrapped her in the blanket, and covered her with the tarp we had in the boat. I’m sorry, Mother Bess. We had to lift her dress to see if she was bleeding, but we only saw her leg was sticking out all haywire.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t see under her bloomers or nothin’,” Jimmy said, his face turned as pink as a turnip.

“We came back as soon as we could,” Frank said. “You know the rest of the story.”