Circled Heart (16 page)

“What then?”

“The company,” he answered, adding, “You look very nice tonight, Johanna. Is there something different about you?” I had the quick, uncharitable thought that Drew Gallagher would have noticed the dress and the color right away.

Then, because I was ashamed of myself, I answered, “No. It must be the candlelight,” and quickly shifted the conversation to Allen’s work.

The evening passed pleasantly, despite the absence of the promised dance band. Because the lakeside cooled quickly once the sun set, the guests on the lawn slowly drifted inside where conversation continued to swirl through all the rooms. I lost track of Grandmother and Allen and wandered into a room where Jennie was seated at the piano, surrounded again by a small crowd of adoring young men. Carl Milford sat very close to her on the piano bench, his shoulder against hers, both of them trying to read from the same sheet of music and laughing at the result. Jennie was very gay and flirtatious, careful not to favor any one young man over another, turning to speak to someone behind her before leaning to whisper in Carl’s ear. She was a social natural, had always been, regardless of her recent veiled disdain for the proprieties.

Coming up beside me, Peter commented, “What do you think, Johanna? Can you see my sister fitting in with the Milfords of Boston?”

“They’d be fortunate to have her.” I watched the laughing scene at the piano. “Is he trustworthy with Jennie, Peter? Somehow I don’t have a lot of confidence in Carl Milford’s honorable intentions. But he’s your friend and you know him better than I.”

“Not really my friend, Johanna. Mother asked me to make his acquaintance and if the opportunity presented itself, to invite him home sometime, and I didn’t have the energy to question or protest. Like the sheep I am, I simply did what I was asked. I don’t think he’s a bad sort. Spoiled, of course, with too much of a temper, but if you’re worried about Jennie, don’t be. She can handle herself quite ably. Jennie would only be seduced if she wanted to be.”

I turned to look at Peter with surprise. “Do you really believe that to be true?”

“I know that to be true. You still see my sister through the lens of childhood, but Jennie’s all grown up and when she chooses, she has a stronger will than either of us. No one can make Jennie do something she doesn’t want to do. No one. I love my sister but she scares me a little.” From the expression on his face, Peter didn’t appear to be joking.

I wanted to continue the conversation but Carl Milford began playing “Happy Birthday” on the piano, and everyone in the room joined in the tune. When Carl finished playing, he turned to Jennie for her reaction and she surprised everyone, including Carl, by leaning forward and kissing him on the mouth. Definitely not the ingénue any longer, I thought, and watched Aunt Kitty scurry from the doorway with offers of birthday cake, more interested in distracting than serving her guests just then. Peter moved easily toward the door, following his mother’s lead, and as people began to exit toward the display of cake in the dining room, I was conscious of a small tableau that remained around the piano: Carl Milford with his face very close to Jennie’s, holding her gaze with his dark, provocative eyes. Sandy-haired Frank Mulholland to Jennie’s side, his eyes wistfully fixed on Jennie’s face, apparently surprised by the kiss and clearly wishing he’d been the one next to her on the piano bench, Jennie herself no longer laughing, meeting Milford’s look head on and unafraid, something daring and dangerous in her sparkle. And of all people, Allen Goldwyn standing partly in shadows against the far wall, as intent on the little scene as I.

Aunt Kitty came to the door and called Jennie’s name—a maternal scolding put on hold but sure to take place later, I thought, recognizing the subtle inflection of her tone—and the picture dissolved. Jennie slid off the bench and took Frank’s arm, leading him out of the room. Carl Milford followed them, smiling slightly beneath his dark mustache, and after him Allen with his hands in his pockets and a distant expression on his face, a man puzzling out the answer to a mystery. I stood there alone, watched the little parade exit, and knew that I had just seen something important—though not sure what or why.

Later in the evening as Jennie opened an embarrassingly tall stack of presents, I caught a glimpse of Grandmother across the room. The expression on her face alarmed me. She appeared bewildered, gazing around the room with what appeared to be confusion and uncertainty. Jennie made a laughing comment about the box she was trying unsuccessfully to open and the guests laughed with her. I stood, anxious to get across the room to Grandmother, certain that something was wrong. Grandmother, agitated, stood, too, but only for a moment before she collapsed in an inelegant heap on the floor, her hand reaching for her heart and her mouth contorted, gasping for breath.

I pushed people rudely to the side as I crossed the spacious room. By the time I reached Grandmother’s side, those standing closest to her realized what had happened and were calling for Uncle Hal. He came quickly to kneel next to me as I loosened Grandmother’s collar and felt for a pulse at the base of her throat.

“Johanna?” He looked at me helplessly.

“Call the doctor immediately. She has a pulse but it’s light and fluttery. Move everyone out of the room, and ask Peter to help me lift her onto the loveseat.” Uncle Hal left quickly and turning to the silent, staring people who crowded around us, I ordered curtly, “We need privacy and quiet.” Aunt Kitty stood among the staring guests, all of them shocked into quiet immobility, and it was Jennie who took over, calmly herded people out of the room, assured them everything would be all right, thanked them for their concern and their presence that evening, and tactfully suggested it was time for the party to end. Peter and I resettled Grandmother’s figure, more frail than I remembered it or thought it should be, on the couch.

“Bring me a cloth and a basin of cool water, Peter. There’s nothing to be done for her except make her comfortable until the doctor arrives.” Grandmother’s breathing was shallow but regular so that I did not fear her imminent death. From the obvious sag of the right side of her mouth and the way her right arm hung limp and unresponsive, I was almost certain she’d had a paralyzing stroke.

Later, the doctor’s brief examination confirmed my fears. “I can’t as yet tell the extent of the damage,” he said. “Only time will tell that. She’ll need bed rest and care to get her strength back, and then we’ll see what can be done.”

Aunt Kitty, back to her usual, managing self, moved toward the door. “I’ll get a room ready. Of course she’ll stay with us.”

Grandmother’s left hand, resting in mine, tightened. I looked quickly at her face to find her eyes open, staring at me, sending a mute but unmistakable message.

“No,” I stated firmly. “She wants to go home. She wants to be in her own bed in her own house. Thank you, Aunt Kitty, but call Levi and tell him to come for us immediately. Have him tell May to get Grandmother’s room ready for her.”

Aunt Kitty protested, as did Uncle Hal, although less stridently, but I would not be deterred. After Aunt Kitty scolded me for being stubborn, ungrateful, and uncaring, she capitulated and left to make the call, and I looked down at Grandmother, who still watched me steadily. Another clear but unspoken message passed between us before she closed her eyes and remained peacefully unconscious the entire trip back home to Hill Street.

No one is so accursed by fate,

No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own.

Responds, - as if with unseen wings,

An angel touched its quivering strings;

And whispers, in its song,

“Where hast thou stayed so long?”

Chapter Eight

When Grandmother finally awoke, she lay partially paralyzed, unable to move the right side of her body. In addition, any words she tried to speak came out unintelligible and jumbled. I might have thought her mental capacity impaired except for the steady, intelligent look I detected in her eyes and hoped it was not simply wishful thinking on my part. Initially, we used two ways to communicate. I would ask yes and no questions and she would blink either once or twice, depending on the answer. If I sat next to her, she would use her left hand to squeeze my hand in answer using the same code. That was how I knew she could hear and understand what was happening around her. The stroke had impaired her ability to communicate orally and to move, but the grandmother I knew and loved still lay alert within that inactive body.

The doctor told us if there were recovery, it would take time. Later, sitting next to Grandmother’s bed, I said scornfully, “The fact that he said if there’s a recovery shows he certainly doesn’t know you very well. Or me either for that matter.” I leaned down to kiss her lightly on the forehead. “I know this is difficult for you, but I’ll be right next to you all the while. You know that, don’t you?” Two blinks for yes before she closed her eyes to sleep.

Monday evening, Mayville directed me roughly, “You go get some sleep, Johanna. I’ll sit with her. There’s cards on the hall table of people who’ve been by and two telephone messages for you. And your Uncle Hal said he’d stop over this evening. Go on now. You’re not the only one who cares about her, you know.”

I slept through until Tuesday morning without interruption, apologized profusely to May, and gathered up the messages that waited for me. Allen Goldwyn sent flowers accompanied by a card asking about Grandmother’s health, and Hilda Cartwright sent a note telling me not to worry about a thing at the Anchorage. Drew Gallagher, apparently oblivious to the high drama playing out on Hill Street, notified me that the employment announcement would go into the paper this week and asked if I could be ready next Monday to interview prospective workers.

For just a moment I felt crushed and overwhelmed, but after taking a deep breath, I went upstairs to sit with Grandmother. Her color was better and while still unable to speak clearly, her words seemed more coherent and sensible.

“I’ve decided to quit my work at the Anchorage, Grandmother. I want to be here with you. The doctor says your recovery is predicated on healthy interactions, daily exercise, mental stimulation, and good nutrition. I can give you all of that, and I want to.” A pause, then one deliberate blink. “What do you mean no? I’m a nurse, remember? After you’re better, I’ll go back to the Anchorage or I’ll find something equally as challenging. Right now I want to be here with you.” She blinked once again. Puzzled and a little frustrated, I asked, “Do you want Mayville to care for you?” Another single blink. We stared at each other until I finally frowned. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you want me to do. You can be very difficult you know.” The left side of her mouth gave a slight twitch and then she blinked. Twice.

I don’t know where the idea came from, only that I awoke with it early Wednesday morning and wondered why it had taken me so long to think of it. When Mayville came to sit with Grandmother, I dressed to go out.

“I’ll be at the Anchorage this afternoon,” I explained to May and stepped outside into a hot July day, the first step I’d taken outdoors since last Saturday. I had planned to have Levi drive me, but the clear afternoon was so pleasant, I decided against it and walked briskly to the elevated station, enjoying the pleasure of being out and alive.

Hilda met me as I entered the Anchorage. “Johanna, I was so sorry to hear of your grandmother’s illness! How is she?”

“Better, but not good yet, if that makes any sense. What have I missed here?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, but I admit you’ve spoiled all of us. I know there was a time you weren’t with us, but I can’t remember how we managed.” She paused. “Have you come to say good-bye?”

“No, I’ve come to talk to Crea.”

Crea, who was coming down the stairs as I spoke, said, “And here I am. We’ve all missed you, Johanna, and we’re not the only ones. Your Mr. Gallagher came by yesterday to speak to you and when I told him I hadn’t seen or heard from you in days, he seemed very disappointed. More like a beau than a business associate.” Her mischievous expression was teasing and welcoming. I thought she really had missed me.

“I’m sure Drew Gallagher has been called many things by many people, but I can’t imagine that beau is one of them. I know why he was here, though, and that’s why I need to talk to you.” Crea followed me down the hall into my little office. “I have a proposition for you, Crea.” She looked curious but wary. “You need a job and I need help caring for my grandmother. You need a place to live and I have room to spare. You want an education and I have contacts at the Chicago Teachers College. There. Doesn’t it seem made to order?”

“What in the world are you talking about, Johanna?”

“My grandmother has had a stroke and she needs care to get better. I’m well suited and perfectly willing to be the one to give her that care, but for some reason she doesn’t want it from me. That’s what made me think of you. She and I live in a house that’s much too big for two women. I was hoping you’d be willing to move in with us and be a companion for my grandmother, help her with her meals, make her do her exercises, read to her, keep her active and stimulated. The doctor says that with that kind of attention, she might possibly regain her strength and faculties. If you’re agreeable to the idea, I could still work at the Anchorage without worrying about her. In exchange, I offer room and board and a reasonable stipend, but best of all, every month I’ll put money into an education fund for you. When Grandmother’s better, I’ll arrange for you to start at the north side Teachers College. The rest will be up to you, Crea, and will depend on how hard you’re willing to work to see your dream come true. Only you can make that happen, but I’m willing to help you get started. What do you say? Will you make the deal? Will you take the chance?”

Crea O’Rourke, with her green eyes unwavering on my face, never hesitated a second and didn’t miss a beat. With one firm, clear word, she answered, “Yes.”

I took Crea home to meet Grandmother the next day, which happened to be—appropriately for Crea, anyway—Independence Day. I felt more nervous than I cared to admit. Even disabled, my grandmother remained a woman of strong opinion and excessive independence and there was always the possibility that she would refuse the offer of Crea’s help. But when Crea said hello and sat down next to Grandmother’s bed, something intangible passed between the two women, an unspoken message from eye to eye, and I knew the arrangement would work.

Mayville was another story, however. She was jealous about the house and even more jealous in her care of Grandmother.

“We don’t know anything about her,” Mayville snapped, “and you want to leave her alone in the house. Who knows what she’ll get up to when no one’s around. The Irish always have plenty of pocket space.”

“Don’t be rude and unkind,” I retorted. “I’ll vouch for Crea personally. Honestly, Mayville, sometimes I don’t know what to make of you. Do you actually think I’d bring someone who couldn’t be trusted into this house?”

“No one can care for Mrs. McIntyre like I can. I should be the one up there.”

“You can’t be two places at once unless you’re the Divinity. If you think I’m going to make the meals while you’re tending to Grandmother, you’re deluded. You’ve tasted my cooking so I shouldn’t have to explain further. You have plenty to keep yourself occupied, Mayville, and what good would it do any of us for you to exhaust yourself running up and down stairs a hundred times a day?”

By the expression on her face, it was clear she remained unconvinced, and I gave up all argument. May was stubborn, but she’d come around once she had time to think through my words. Years ago she didn’t accept me immediately either and I had been family. Crea would undoubtedly take even longer.

When I shared the situation with Crea, she shrugged. “Mayville’s attitude doesn’t bother me, Johanna. I’ve experienced my share of hostility before and I’ve survived. Just so you know you can trust me.”

“I don’t have a concern about that,” I answered sincerely. “I’m just delighted we can be of mutual assistance.”

“You like working at the Anchorage that much?”

“Not just the Anchorage,” I explained, “though that’s part of it. I like the idea of making a difference in people’s lives. I’m excited about the Cox Experiment that Drew Gallagher is willing to fund. I want to be a part of enlightened progress.”

“Do you really believe there’s such a thing as progress?” Her question made me look at her with surprise and curiosity.

“I do. Medical improvements, scientific discoveries, and increased social tolerance are happening all around us. It’s an exciting time to live.” At her skeptical expression I added, “But I can see you don’t agree.”

Her answer sounded uncannily like Allen’s comments the night of my homecoming party: “People don’t change, Johanna, so what good is all that so-called progress? People don’t change on the inside and that’s the only place progress really matters. To me, the more times change, the more they stay the same.” Without giving me a chance to answer, she went on, “I’ll take the train home tonight and start here in the morning.”

“Levi can come for you,” I volunteered. “You shouldn’t have to lug all your belongings on the train.”

Crea gave a small, wry smile. “All my belongings fit into one duffel, Johanna. That won’t be a problem.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

She must have seen that I was annoyed with myself because she smiled and remarked, “I’ve noticed that about you a time or two, but that’s when I find you the most likable. Too much thinking spoils your effect.” Her comment made me laugh.

“I’m not sure how to take that, so I’ll just let it lie. At least let Levi drive you back to the Anchorage this afternoon. It’s getting late, and I’d feel better knowing you got there safe and sound.”

After she left, I went upstairs to sit with Grandmother for a while. Seeing her white-haired and frail lying in the big bed caused my heart to give a lurch, and I was beset with an emotion that I at first identified as pity. Gertrude McIntyre was so independent a woman, so strong and so private, that having her helpless and dependent seemed inherently wrong. The more I sat there with her, however, the more I understood it wasn’t pity I felt. Quietly holding her hand in mine as she slept, examining her aging, elegant face and the long braid of white hair that fell over her shoulder, I realized how dearly I loved her.

“I’ve lost too many people,” I said quietly. “I’m not ready to lose you, too. Not now. I don’t know why you didn’t want me to care for you, but I’m confident Crea will do as well as I. She doesn’t talk about it, but she’s had some kind of grief in her life that’s made her strong and sensitive to other people’s pain. I like her. I hope you will, too. I wouldn’t do anything to endanger you, Grandmother, and I hope I’m doing the right thing and what you want me to do.”

I wondered if Grandmother heard me because she stirred in her sleep, and I thought she might awaken. She didn’t, but—my imagination perhaps—I believe the hand resting in mine briefly pressed my fingers. In lieu of anything more definite, I accepted the feather-light gesture as her agreement and approval.

Once Crea arrived the next morning and was introduced to the geography of the house, I resisted the temptation to run interference between her and Mayville and left to spend the afternoon at the Anchorage. With any luck at all, the house would still be standing when I returned despite the presence of two strong-willed women, three if you included Grandmother, who should not be discounted simply because of a physical incapacity.

I came up to the front walk of the Anchorage at exactly the same time Drew Gallagher pulled up to the curb in his motorcar. He drove himself and I waited there until he turned off the motor and came around the auto to stand beside me.

“I was sorry to hear of your Grandmother’s illness, Johanna,” he said without introduction. “How is she?”

“Better than she was. Thank you for asking. She had a stroke that left her partially paralyzed, but I believe with time and attention she’ll regain her strength.”

“That’s hopeful.”

“Yes, it is. Has my situation thrown the Cox Experiment completely off schedule? I can still be available Monday.”

“Are you sure?” He studied my face with disconcerting seriousness. “You don’t look your usual high-spirited self.”

“I admit it’s been a difficult week, but you’ll have to trust that I know my limitations.”

“I believe you, but that’s not quite the same as trusting you.”

“You don’t trust me? I’m shocked.”

He laughed and fell into step beside me as I started up the walk.

“Why on earth would that shock you when you’ve told me on numerous occasions that you’re only interested in what you can get from me?”

I stopped abruptly. “I never said that. Exactly.”

“Johanna, has the past stressful week impaired your memory? Shall I quote chapter and verse? You’ve let me know more than once that you don’t care a damn about me as long as you get what you want.”

“I may have implied that—”

We stepped into the front hall, Drew following closely enough behind me that I could hear his low laugh. “‘Implied’ suggests some degree of subtlety, Johanna, which you must agree is not your strong suit.” I turned to face him and he held up a hand. “There’s no use looking at me like that. I have a right to my own opinion.”