Sonoma Rose: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel (16 page)

Rosa didn’t agree with the landlady’s opinion, but in the interest of diplomacy, she made a noncommittal murmur and nodded.

Lars couldn’t conceal his amusement. “Your quilts won her
over,” he said after the landlady disappeared down the stairs. “Maybe you should carry them wherever we go.”

“Maybe,” Rosa said, smiling, although she hoped she wouldn’t need to win over anyone else.

They stowed their luggage, by unspoken agreement placing Rosa and the children in the larger of the two rooms and Lars alone in the other. Rosa took a moment to freshen up before washing Lupita’s and Miguel’s faces and brushing their hair, and instructing Marta and Ana to do the same for themselves. In the meantime Lars returned downstairs to ask the landlady for directions to the hospital. Before long they met him on the front porch and walked a few blocks to Clay Street, where they found the Stanford Hospital, a narrow, four-story building that appeared to have been fairly recently built.

Inside, Lars gave their assumed names at the registration desk and they settled in to wait. Not knowing when they would arrive in San Francisco, unable to linger in Oxnard until they received a reply to Lars’s wire, Rosa and Lars had known they were taking a chance that Dr. Reynolds would be able to see them that day. As the minutes ticked past and the children grew bored and weary, Rosa began to worry that Dr. Reynolds might be too busy with other patients to see them, or too annoyed by her presumption at showing up without a proper appointment. If they were turned away now after coming so far—

She felt Lars’s hand close around hers. “Rosa,” he said in a low voice. “It’s going to be okay. He’s going to help us.”

Rosa wished she could be so sure. She managed a smile and squeezed his hand in thanks. His hands were rougher than she remembered, calloused and dry, but they were warm and strong and comforting. She wished she did not have to let go.

A nurse clad in a white cap and dress entered the waiting
room carrying a brown clipboard. “Mr. and Mrs. Ottesen?” she inquired, looking around expectantly.

When Lars squeezed her hand and stood, Rosa quickly got to her feet, silently berating herself for forgetting their aliases. “Marta,” she asked quietly, “will you please stay here with Lupita until we get back?” When Marta nodded, Rosa picked up Miguel, took Ana by the hand, and followed the nurse down a corridor to an examination room, with Lars close behind.

After settling Ana and Miguel side by side on the examination table, the nurse took their temperatures, weighed them, and listened to their heartbeats, smiling pleasantly all the while. Charmed by her friendliness, Miguel beamed and chatted with her, but Ana sat quietly unless asked a question, her expression tired, patient, and resigned. Rosa wished she could promise her daughter a cure and see hope light up her wan, pallid features.

Soon a short, stocky man with small, round glasses and a full, bushy black beard strode into the room carrying a folder of papers. Setting the folder aside, he smiled at the children and introduced himself as Dr. Reynolds. “When Dr. Russell telephoned me yesterday, he left me with the impression that he intended to treat your children himself based upon my recommendations,” he remarked to Rosa and Lars, his eyes twinkling. “I’m flattered that you made the long trip north to bring your children to see me instead.”

His gracious humor put Rosa at ease, even as he commenced with the same tests and asked the same questions all the other doctors had. As Rosa described their symptoms and the progression of the mysterious ailment in the children she had lost, Dr. Reynolds nodded thoughtfully and examined Ana’s and Miguel’s eyes and throats and abdomens, drawing
out more information from Rosa and from Ana too with peculiarly specific questions no other doctor had posed. At last he patted Miguel on the head, lifted him down, and handed him to Rosa. “Your children have celiac disease,” he said, helping Ana down from the table. “They cannot digest sugars, starches, or fats. The resulting chronic, debilitating diarrhea causes malnutrition, and as you know, it can be fatal.” The doctor smiled kindly, compassionately, and he rested his hand on Miguel’s soft, dark curls. “However, I assure you that Ana and Miguel can avoid that fate.”

Rosa drew in a quick, shaky breath. “You know of a cure?”

“I’ve heard of a treatment,” Dr. Reynolds clarified. He glanced around for the folder he had set aside earlier, and he took from it a dog-eared medical journal. “Dr. Sidney V. Haas of New York City published a fascinating study in the
American Journal of Diseases of Children
last year. He’s treated many children suffering from the same affliction as your son and daughter with great success. Simple but strict changes to his patients’ diets resulted in a complete elimination of their symptoms and a return to vigorous good health.”

“What sort of changes?” asked Rosa. “We’ll do whatever we have to do.”

Dr. Reynolds paged through the papers in his folder. “Dr. Haas discovered that ripe bananas have some essential property that enable them to break up starches and convert cane sugar into fruit sugars, which are more easily tolerated by the patient’s digestive system. Once the problem of sugar and starch digestion is resolved, the proper digestion of fats follows. Consequently, patients are then able to take nourishment from the food they eat, and gradually attain good health.”

Lars studied him, his glance falling upon the folder in the
doctor’s hands as if he wanted to read it for himself. “Bananas can do all that?”

Dr. Reynolds nodded. “We don’t fully understand why, but they can.” He went on to explain the specifics of what had come to be known as Dr. Haas’s banana diet. Ana and Miguel should eat as many ripe bananas each day as they were willing to take, he emphasized, ideally between four and eight. They must avoid all breads, crackers, cereals, and potatoes, with rice being the only starch permitted. In addition to bananas and rice, the children could eat healthy amounts of cheese, oranges, vegetables, meat, and gelatin, and they could drink milk. Dr. Haas had observed improvement in his patients almost immediately after they had begun the banana diet, and most had been declared completely free of symptoms within three to six months. Even so, Dr. Reynolds noted, any deviation from the protocol after that time could result in a relapse.

As he spoke, Dr. Reynolds wrote down his instructions on a sheet of paper. “I’d like to examine the children weekly,” he said as he handed the paper to Lars. “Especially in these early weeks, it’s important for me to see how well they’re responding to the diet. However, I realize you’re a long way from home. If you prefer, I could write to your family doctor and he could take over their treatment.”

“No,” said Rosa firmly. They could not go home, but even if they could, she adamantly refused to entrust Ana’s and Miguel’s health to the doctors who had urged her to feed her children “wholesome white bread,” something they should have scrupulously avoided. “You know more about this affliction than any other doctor they’ve seen. I want you to take care of them.”

“Very well.” Dr. Reynolds hesitated. “I’m mindful that you haven’t been in San Francisco long. I should warn you that in
the city, the cost of food and lodgings for a family of four could be prohibitive.”

“A family of six,” Rosa said without thinking, as a restless Miguel wriggled in her arms. “My other two daughters are waiting outside.”

“You have two other daughters? Celiac disease often runs in families. Would you like me to examine them as well?”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Rosa quickly assured him, setting down Miguel but holding on to his hand. “They’ve never suffered the way my other children have.”

“Hmm. Curious.” The doctor pondered Rosa’s words for a moment before setting the puzzle aside. “If the cost of keeping the entire family hereabouts for the duration of Ana’s and Miguel’s treatment is too much, you could admit them to the Stanford Convalescent Home. It’s affiliated with Stanford University just as this hospital is, and it’s quite close. Mrs. Ottesen could remain in the city to care for them, while Mr. Ottesen would be free to take your other children home.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but we couldn’t possibly split up,” said Rosa. “We’ll stay in San Francisco, all six of us, together. The separation would be a greater hardship than the expense.”

“Of course. I understand.” Even so, the doctor appeared no less worried as he turned to Lars. “But I’m sure you’ve left a job behind in Southern California. How likely is it that your employer will hire you back after such a long absence?”

“I worked my brother’s ranch,” said Lars. “He’d take me back in a heartbeat. He has to. We’re family. In the meantime, I can find something here to pay the bills. Ranching and farming are in my blood, but I’ve held down other odd jobs from time to time. Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but we’ll get by.”

“I apologize if I’ve overstepped my bounds.” Dr. Reynolds
smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve been told I have a tendency to do that. A hazard of the profession, I suppose.”

“Not at all, Doctor.” Lars rose and shook his head. “We’re very grateful.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Rosa fervently, picking up Miguel again and taking Ana’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr. Reynolds accompanied them to the registration desk, where they scheduled an appointment for the following week. Before they parted ways, Ana peered up at the doctor solemnly and said, “Do you really think if Miguel and I don’t eat bread and crackers and those other things, and eat bananas every day, we’ll get better?”

Dr. Reynolds knelt down and looked her straight in the eye. “Ana, I promise you that if you follow the instructions I gave your mother, and if you never give in to the temptation to eat a cookie or a slice of toast, you
will
get better. You may get sick of bananas, but you won’t be sick like you have been, not anymore.”

Ana smiled up at him, speechless with delight, her eyes shining with hope and happiness.

She found her voice after they left the hospital and walked back to the boardinghouse. “He promised we’d get better,” she said as they stopped at a market along the way to buy an ample supply of bananas, some ripe and ready to eat, others still green. “You all heard him. He promised.”

Rosa and Lars exchanged a look, and Rosa knew he too hoped the well-meaning doctor would fulfill that promise. After so much false hope and disappointment, Ana’s spirits would be crushed if this treatment failed, just as all the others had failed. Dr. Reynolds had said that the patients in New York City had begun to improve almost as soon as they started Dr. Haas’s banana
diet. Rosa might not have to wait long to see whether Ana and Miguel would regain the good health they had enjoyed all too briefly when they were babies.

When they told Mrs. Phillips about their visit to the hospital and the doctor’s strict instructions, she assured Rosa that she would be happy to prepare special meals that would suit “the poor dears.” True to her word, she served Ana and Miguel boiled white rice with sliced bananas on the side at suppertime, and kept the other guests’ potatoes and pot roast and fresh bread well out of their reach.

By early evening, Rosa was so exhausted from travel and drained from the emotional turmoil of the day that she overruled the children’s protests and put them to bed early. She tucked the three youngest children into the double bed—placing Miguel in the middle so he would be less likely to tumble out—while Marta took the small trundle bed and Rosa made the sofa more comfortable for herself with pillows and extra blankets she found in the wardrobe. When the children were settled, she kissed them good night, doused the light, and stood watching them in the semidarkness, thinking of their lost siblings until grief threatened to extinguish the new light of hope in her heart.

As the room darkened and the children’s breathing became soft, steady, and even, she quietly stole into the hallway and knocked upon Lars’s door. She heard bedsprings creak, footsteps muffled by a rug, and then the door swung open. “Rosa?” Lars asked, wide-awake and concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“I can’t believe it was all a matter of what they were eating.” Her voice shook with anguish and remorse. “Those doctors, they
told
me, they
said
I should feed them ‘wholesome white bread.’ I remember it precisely. I wrote it down to make sure I
got it right. And now, now I discover—” Unable to go on, she lifted a hand and let it fall, helpless, trembling so hard that she had to brace herself against the doorjamb.

“Those doctors didn’t know,” said Lars, his voice gentle and full of compassion as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “They couldn’t have known, and you couldn’t have either. This research Dr. Reynolds referred to—that doctor in New York published it only last year.”

“That should have been in time to save Pedro,” Rosa choked out, tears gathering. “Not John Junior or Angela or Maria, but it could have saved Pedro. If I had taken him to the Oxnard hospital a year ago, he might have lived.” He could be with her that very moment, a lively, mischievous six-year-old who loved to sing and peppered her with questions—about animals, the sky, what made cars go—from the moment he scrambled out of bed in the morning until she tucked him beneath his favorite Log Cabin quilt at night. He should be in the other room enjoying a soft bed and sweet dreams. He should have lived. They all should have lived.

“That’s not your fault,” said Lars. “John wouldn’t let you take the children beyond the valley.”

“I should have insisted! I should have defied him!”

Lars gently touched her bruised face. “I’ve seen what he does to you when he thinks you’ve defied him. You can’t blame yourself for trying to find another way to get help and advice. How many letters did you write—dozens? Hundreds? You must have written to every doctor within a hundred miles of the Arboles Valley.”

But not to the one doctor who could have helped her. “Why didn’t I see it for myself?” The children never threw up rice or corn tortillas or oranges they plucked from the trees in front of
the adobe. Why hadn’t she detected the pattern? “I prepared every meal my children have ever eaten. Why didn’t I realize what was making them sick?”