On the Mend

Mother and I walked home on the well-worn path along Smith Creek, just west of the town square where the small cannon sat. A relic from the Mexican-American War that had started right here in Gonzales. It had stood solid in the storm’s wake.

It was the first time Mother had been home since the disaster. We inspected the piles of wood and debris that littered the yard. The old door to the outhouse lay precariously to the side of the pile. Thankfully, Señor Abel and his boys had stepped in and tended to the chickens and livestock without being asked.

“I expect we’ll need to ask Señor Abel for his help to rebuild the outhouse. My golly, what a mess, Ruth. It’s as bad in here as it is outside,” Mother said, walking in the front door. “Help me fold the blankets and put them away. I’d forgotten how we just up and left everything that night. Father will be home in a few days, and I want everything in order.”

“Maybe we should make a pie,” I said. “Then it will smell good too!”

“Maybe,” Mother sighed. But right now, we need to take these things to Miss Marilyn,” she said, putting a couple of jars of applesauce, a bag of flour, and a dozen eggs into her basket. With all Marilyn’s cooking, these will help restock her pantry. I’ll carry the bag of beans.”

➰

“Bess, go home tonight and get a good night’s sleep,” Father said from the sofa where he had been resting. “We’ll be all right. Y’all need your rest. I can’t have you getting sick, too. I’ll watch Suzanna tonight.” He wasn’t up to walking the two miles home or climbing into a wagon just yet. Doc said he should be well enough to leave by the following Monday. It had been barely a week since the storm. Our burden would lighten if only Suzanna would wake up! With every passing day, our worries had stacked up like bricks one on top of another.

Doc scheduled our visits with Suzanna. I begged to take part in the vigilance, and they finally agreed. After dinner, before leaving for Señor Abel’s home, I was to sit and read to Suzanna for an hour and a half. Doc lent me his book White Fang, about a dog named Buck that was stolen and shipped to Alaska. If Suzanna could hear it, like Doc said she could, I was sure she couldn’t wait to hear the next chapter, like me. I had almost forgotten why I was reading it to her, the story was so good.

The hammering in the distance filled the days, and I didn’t think I could ever get used to it. “They expect to open the school next week after the roof is fixed,” Mother said. “I suppose you’ll go back, come Monday.”

“But Mother, Suzanna’s not even awake yet. Please let me stay here and help you.”

“No, Ruth, I don’t want you missing any more of your schooling.”

What would my classmates say about me having disobeyed my folks and putting my family at risk? I’m sure I was in for a razing, especially from the boys. The girls would probably ignore me until they felt bad about it. Then they would want to know all the gossip, how Father and Suzanna were found, how they were doing, and if she had woken. Hopefully, she would be awake by then.

➰

Señor Abel took his family to the Catholic Church the Sunday after the storm. He dropped me off at my Church with the understanding I would walk back to Doc’s afterward. When I arrived, the congregation embraced me and ushered me to a seat between two families that I knew. The preacher spoke about how proud he was of the community. How they came together to support one another during the storm and afterward. He led a prayer for Suzanna and Father and reminded us that Mr. Hooper was still unfound and we should pray for his soul. We bowed our heads. It was like the tragedy hung heavy in the room over our heads. I could feel the weight of it. We raised our heads and our hands to God to lift the veil and let the healing in.

Walking home, I kicked the sidewalk. It was all my fault that I was alone on this Sunday morning, without my family. I sighed and picked up a fallen magnolia bloom. Even through the storm had left it battered and bruised, it had bloomed and remained beautiful. Rebirth could happen, I suppose. Again, right there on that street, I promised God I would conduct myself properly if he let Suzanna wake up. I couldn’t think of the alternative.

“We need to have a sit-down,” Doc said to Mother and Father in the parlor that afternoon.

“Ruth, go help Hattie, Miss Marilyn’s girl, in the kitchen,” Mother said.

I left through the double doors, leaving them open a crack. Once, I was sure Mother wasn’t looking. I ducked down below the wood paneling to listen.

“Suzanna spiked a fever this morning,” Doc said. “We need to accept that Suzanna’s getting worse, and I’ve done almost everything I know to do. At this point, it’s up to the Lord.”

My head felt as if it were filled with cotton batting. I should cry, but I couldn’t. Where was God? How come he hadn’t answered my prayer?  I know I had been earnest and true when I had prayed. And what did Doc mean by saying he had done ‘almost everything’? I slid to the floor and covered my face with my hands.

Mother was praying and reciting, “Jeremiah 30:17: For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord. We turn to you, Gracious Lord, and pray that Suzanna will recover soon to fulfill her destiny. If she is to pass…” Mother’s voice broke.

“Please, Lord, she has many great things to accomplish in this life,” Father said. “Amen.”

Hattie walked from the kitchen carrying a stack of folded towels. She found me huddled on the floor. “Ruth, what you doing down there?” She looked over her shoulder. “Miss Marilyn’s coming. Git up!”

I rose and wiped my face, but I couldn’t turn my mouth into a smile.

Miss Marilyn walked up, and Hattie hurried on with her task.

“Ruth, what are you doing here?” She placed her hands on my shoulders and urged me through the door.

“Bess, it seems, Ruth was listening,” Miss Marilyn said as she guided me into the parlor.

I sat down between Mother and Father. Their pain enveloped me. Mother put her arm around me, but I wiggled out of her reach and made my way to the Surgery.

“Ruth,” Mother’s voice raw and pained called me back.

“It’s okay, Mother. I want to talk to Suzanna.”

“Don’t disturb her, Ruth. Lord, won’t you ever learn?”

“Go on, Ruth,” Father said. “It’s okay.”

➰

The prayer we said every night before we went to sleep came to mind.

“Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.”

I took her hand. “Suzanna, it’s not your time! God can’t need you yet. I need you. Do you hear? I need you!” I lay my head down on her shoulder. “Please, God, don’t take her away from me.”

➰

Sometime later, Mother pulled me away and told me to go outside. She wiped her brow and repeatedly dribbled sweetened willow bark tea into her mouth; most of it dripped down her chin. I sat outside on the porch, just outside the window.

“Bess, her fever is getting worse,” I heard Doc say. “If she doesn’t show signs of improvement in the next few hours, we’ll have to decide if we take her leg to save her life.”

Mother moaned, and I could hear her sobs from where I sat. I peeked in the window and saw Father was crying, too.

“Her condition is grave,” Doc said. “We’ll have to decide by morning.”

“Doc, do we dare wait?” Mother asked.

“Does she have a better chance at living if we act now?” Father asked.

I think it’s safe to wait till mornin’,” Doc said.

“Okay, Doc,” Father choked out.

“Mother, is she going to get well? I asked.

“We’re worried and tired, dear. Everything will be fine, it will!” She pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “Come here,” she said, patting the sofa.

How could Suzanna live without a leg?

Mother put her arm around me and told me everything would be fine, but I’d heard Doc. I couldn’t remember when my mother had lied to me before.

Hattie brought in a steaming stewpot filled with washcloths and hot water. It was filled with rosemary and Epsom salt. Doc wrung a washcloth and covered Suzanna’s leg with the hot compresses.

“I’ll do that.”  Mother said

She spread the warm compresses on Suzanna’s leg until the water cooled, and she left to reheat the mixture.

Beads of sweat formed on Suzanna’s brow, but her leg looked red and angry.

“I heard you say she has a bug. Does she have a bug in her leg?” I asked Doc.

“No, Ruth, it’s a poison in the body that makes her feverish,” Doc said. “I’m trying to draw it out. We’re not giving up.”

“Did you tell Mother and Father you might have to take her leg? Does that mean you would cut off her leg? ”

“We won’t do that unless we have to do it to save her life, Ruth.”

Mother brought in more water. “Can I apply the compresses, Mother?”

“Yes.”

The water was hot, but I picked up a corner of the washcloth and let the water drip back into the bowl, which was green with the rosemary that floated within. As soon as I could, I wrung it out, shaking it till it was cool enough to place on her leg, without burning me or her.

Later that afternoon, Señor Abel came to take me home. Mother buttoned my coat up against the rain to keep me dry.

“Ruth,” Mother said. “I need you to do something for me. Tomorrow morning, before school, bring me Suzanna’s church frock, her socks and shoes, and her underclothes for when she recovers. She’ll need those things soon, isn’t that right, Doc?”

His eyelids leaden, he nodded. “Yes, she’ll need those things.”

Doc lit the Tiffany lamp that sat on his desk in the darkening room. He stroked his beard and held the hair between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yep, I suspect she will need those things soon,” he repeated, although his voice quavered.

But I knew better. I knew what they were for, but I was determined to concentrate on the positive. “Yes, ma’am,” holding my tongue and not answering in thoughtless haste as I tended to do. “I’ll bring you her things tomorrow morning when I come.”

➰

Early the following day, I let myself into Doc’s home and found Mother dozing in the rocker beside Suzanna’s bed. I set Suzanna’s things to the side and shook Mother’s shoulder.

“Mother, wake up? Why don’t you go to rest? I’ll sit with Suzanna until I leave for school.”

When Mother stood up, she overturned an empty teacup. The china broke into pieces when it hit the floor.

“Oh no, how clumsy of me,” Mother said. We bent over to pick up the pieces of the shattered cup and saucer. Upon standing, I glanced at my sister’s face. I stood stock still.

“Ruth!” Mother snapped. “Careful, watch what you’re doing. Move away, or you’ll step on a piece of china.”

Did I see Suzanna’s eyes flutter? “She’s awake,” I said in a whisper.

“What are you saying, Ruth?”

“She’s awake!”

Mother stood, holding pieces of the broken cup, with a look of disbelief.

“She’s awake!” I shouted.

“Doc, come,” Mother said.

Doc was the first in the room, Father, Miss Marilyn, and Hattie followed.

“Hattie,” Miss Marilyn said, “Go get a broom to sweep up the broken china cup.”

Doc touched Suzanna’s forehead, took her pulse, and listened to her heart with his stethoscope. “Her fever’s broken, and her heart is strong.”

“We’re in fine fettle,” Doc said.

Mother clasped my hands to her chest, and we jumped up and down for joy. Father hugged us and Doc clapped Father on the back.

I felt like running through town, shouting, " She’s awake! She didn’t die!

Suzanna’s eyes were closed, her face softened. “I’m hungry,” she murmured.

We laughed. But Father’s laugh was the loudest! He clutched his side and had to sit down in a nearby chair, chuckling and grimacing at the same time.

“I bet you are hungry, Suzanna! I’ll bring you some soup,” Miss Marilyn said.

“I’ll help you,” Mother offered.

“No, Bea, you stay here with her.”

Mother held Suzanna’s hand. Doc stood next to Father, watching the miracle.

“Suzanna, I’ve been waiting all this time to tell you that I’m so sorry I led you out that night.” She squeezed my hand. “I will do everything I can to help you feel better.” She smiled.

“I promised God that if you woke up, I would be good, attend church, and dedicate myself to my studies.”

She said softly, “Really, Ruth, you think you can do that?”

“I don’t know, but you’re awake, so I have to try.”

“That’s enough of that, Ruth.” Mother said, holding a tray Marilyn had brought in. Suzanna needs to eat, and we can’t wear her out. It’s getting late for school They’re waiting for you. They’ll be happy to hear the news. Go along with you.”

“Oh, Mother, do I have to?”

“Get along. Scat.”

I ran the entire way, the good news wagging on my tongue.