Miss Julia Delivers the Goods (6 page)

“When did all this happen?”

“I don’t know. I was so stunned I didn’t think to ask her. And she didn’t much want to talk about it.” I sat still for a second or two, then raised my head from his shoulder. “You know what I think? I think she’s been sick longer than we’ve realized. If she’d been feeling herself, she’d never have cut him off. Maybe I ought to tell that doctor. It could be an important symptom.”

“Julia,” he said, pulling me back closer. “If it is, let her tell him. It’s not our place.”

“Well, people do make bad decisions when they aren’t feeling well. Life-changing decisions, too.” And speaking of that, I still wondered if Hazel Marie’s problem didn’t have to do with the change of life. Dr. McKay hadn’t even mentioned that, but I could’ve told him of three people I knew who’d gone off the deep end during those times in their lives. One had gone into a steep decline and stayed in bed for the next seven years, and another refused to recognize her own children, and the other had taken after her husband with a butcher knife.

You can’t be too careful when certain internal changes begin to occur, and
Rick
should’ve had that uppermost in his mind.

I guess, though, if all Hazel Marie did was throw up all over the place and tell Mr. Pickens to take a hike, maybe we were getting off lightly.

It didn’t take long for the word to get around town that Hazel Marie was in the hospital. Nurses talk, too, you know. So the phone started ringing off the hook with everybody wanting to know what was wrong, how bad it was, and what they could do to help. It just did me in to have to keep saying that I didn’t know what she had and neither did her doctor. That opened the door for all kinds of speculations.

Mildred Allen said, “You remember Mamie Harrison? They put her in the hospital without knowing what was wrong and you know what happened to her. She was never the same again.”

And LuAnne Conover phoned, wanting to know why I hadn’t called her with the news. “I can’t believe you, Julia. You
know
I’d want to know and I had to find out at the post office. I’d’ve been by your side every minute if I’d known. Now listen, I heard about this new treatment that some clinic right outside of town is offering. I’d look into that if I were you.”

Betsy Harris called wanting to know if we’d thought of a chiropractor. “You wouldn’t believe how much better I felt after having my back aligned,” she said.

And, Lord help us, Margaret Benson from the Lila Mae Harding Sunday school class called wanting to know if Hazel Marie would consider acupuncture. “You’d be amazed, Julia,” she said. And I probably would if anybody ever got me near that many needles.

Etta Mae Wiggins called, very distressed, offering whatever help we needed. “I just love Hazel Marie,” she said. “I’ll drop everything and do private duty on her. Or take care of her when she comes home. Whatever she needs.”

And of course, Emma Sue Ledbetter called to say that she was holding Hazel Marie up in her prayers.

“Well,” I told her, “hold up the rest of us while you’re at it.” Then, as much as I hated to start something I couldn’t stop, I asked her to activate the prayer chain. There was no telling what the talk would be by the time everybody passed the word along the telephone lines, but we needed all the help we could get.

“Lillian,” I said, hanging up the phone again, “people are kind but, I declare, it gets to be too much sometimes.”

“Yessum, they start bringin’ covered dishes pretty soon you don’t watch out.”

I shuddered, thinking of the last time the town turned out with covered dishes. It was for a funeral that, thank goodness, never occurred since Horace Allen turned up alive and well, but the thought of the same outpouring for Hazel Marie made me want to weep.

I took my time that morning before going to the hospital. Having missed Dr. McKay on several occasions when I’d tried to time my visits to his, I’d just about given up on catching him on his rounds. So I ended up stepping out of the elevator in midmorning, only to run right into him as he was leaving.

“Why, Dr. McKay,” I said, delighted to catch him unawares, “how nice to see you. And how is our patient this morning?”

“Doing well,” he said with the beginnings of a smile. “Her fever’s down this morning, and she’s been able to take a little dry toast and liquids by mouth. So if all goes well, she’ll soon be on a normal diet. When she gets home, I want her to take it easy for another week. Give her several small meals a day instead of three big ones, and make sure she gets plenty of rest. Let’s give it one more day here to be sure the vomiting has stopped and she’s fully rehydrated. You can take her home tomorrow.”

“Well, that is good news and a great relief to me. But we certainly don’t want it to happen again. So what’s your diagnosis? Or do you have one? Or can you even tell me?”

“Oh, I have one, all right,” he said, this time with a broad satisfied smile on his face. “Actually, and I don’t mind admitting it, one of the nurses put me on the right track. The only thing wrong with Hazel Marie is a touch of
hyperemesis gravidarum
.”

My hand flew to my throat and I rocked back on my heels. “Oh, my,” I gasped, “that sounds . . . grave.”

“Not at all,” he said, turning toward the stairs. “It’s under control now and her condition is completely curable.” He glanced at his watch and moved off. “In time, that is. I’ll let her tell you about it.”

As he left, I had to put my hand against the wall to steady myself. He was certainly treating Hazel Marie’s condition lightly enough—even cavalierly—but I knew that anytime an illness had a Latin name, it had to be serious. So I stumbled down the hall, tapped on Hazel Marie’s door and peeked in, prepared to offer succor and comfort and a consultation with another doctor.

“Hazel Marie?” I whispered, easing into the room.

She took one look at me, then grabbed the sheet and flipped it over her head. Turning toward the wall, she pled, “Don’t look, Miss Julia! Please don’t look at me. I can’t stand it.”

“Why, Hazel Marie,” I said, hurrying to the bed. “What is wrong with you? Listen, it can’t be that bad. I just saw Dr. McKay out in the hall and he said you’ll soon be well and eating as normal as anybody. That’s good news. You have to be happy about that.”

“I’m not happy about anything,” she mumbled, huddling under the sheet, her feet drawn up and her whole body curled away from me. “I’m so sorry, Miss Julia. Just so sorry, and I’ll leave just as soon as I can.”

“Now, Hazel Marie, we’ll have you out of this place in no time, so don’t worry yourself about when you leave. Sam and I will take care of everything. We all want you home, and Dr. McKay said that the Latin condition you have is completely curable.”

She drew herself up tighter, her shoulders trembling as she began sobbing into her pillow. “No, it’s not,” she moaned. “It’s awful, and, Miss Julia, I didn’t mean to. I’d give anything for this not to happen. I’m so ashamed.”

“You don’t have one thing to be ashamed of,” I assured her, distressed that Dr. McKay’s diagnosis and prognosis had sent her into such a tailspin. “After all, you didn’t do it to yourself. Turn over now, and tell me what has you so upset. The doctor seemed pleased with your progress.”

“Easy for him to say,” she snuffled into the pillow. “He doesn’t have to look you in the eye, knowing what he’s done.”

“Well, believe me, he doesn’t have much to be proud of, the way he’s conducted himself. But, Hazel Marie, honey, please turn over and tell me what he said. I don’t understand Latin, so I don’t know how to help you.”

She pulled the sheet down, using it to wipe her face, but she didn’t turn over. Speaking to the wall, she said, “He didn’t tell you what caused it?”

“No, just that you’d explain it.”

“Oh, Lord,” she moaned, burying her face again. “I don’t think I can. But I’ll leave, Miss Julia. I promise I’ll go somewhere far away so nobody’ll ever know.”

“Hazel Marie!” I said, a bit sharply. “Stop this talk of leaving. If you have something catching, we’ll put you in isolation, but you’re not going anywhere. Now tell me what we need to do to get you home where you belong.”

I didn’t think she was going to answer, but suddenly she turned over and sat up in bed. Her face was blotched, her hair a rat’s nest of tangles with black roots and her eyes still overflowing. She drew her knees up and rested her forehead on them, hiding her face from me.

“I guess you might as well know,” she said, her voice muffled, but determined. “You’ll find out sooner or later anyhow. I . . . Miss Julia, the doctor said . . .” Her shoulders hunched together and her voice dropped to a whisper, “The doctor, he said I’m . . . expecting.”

“Expecting what?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I drew a sharp breath as it hit me. “A
baby?
”

I felt for something to hold on to, my hand lighting on the back of a chair. “Hazel Marie, are you expecting a baby?”

She nodded and swallowed hard. “That’s what he said, but I don’t see how.”

Well, Lord, if that was the case, she was worse off than any of us knew.

I stood there a few minutes, as all the implications of this news seemed to hover over my head. I’d been struck dumb a few times before in my life, but even when my tongue wouldn’t move, my mind had continued to function. But not this time. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t think. I just stood there and looked at her, a white noise in my brain. And the first thing that came into my head? A change-of-life baby, a distressing event for most couples and even more so for Hazel Marie who wasn’t even a couple.

“Hazel Marie,” I finally managed to say, “you do know how babies are conceived, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s just that I didn’t think it would happen. I mean, I thought I was past the age. So,” she whispered, still unable to look at me, “so that’s why I have to leave. I’ll go somewhere where nobody’ll know you or know . . . how bad I’ve let you down. I’m just so sorry.”

As she dissolved into tears again, my mind jumped back into gear. And the first thing I thought of was that, as shattering as the news of a baby was, it probably wasn’t as bad as having a tropical parasite. “Well,” I said, “I’ll admit that this has set me back a little, but it’s fixable. I’ll get Mr. Pickens back here if I have to drag him by the hair of his head. Then we’ll get you married and nobody’ll be the wiser. See? It’ll work out, so you put aside any thought of leaving.” Then with a supreme effort of will, I went on. “We’ll have things to do to get ready for a baby. Just imagine, Hazel Marie, a new little baby! Why, everybody’s going to be so happy for you, and Mr. Pickens most of all.”

She shook her head. “No, he won’t. And, Miss Julia,” she said, finally turning those big eyes on me, “I have to do this myself. I’m the one to blame and I don’t deserve anything but to bear the awful shame of it.” A great sob shuddered through her. “For the second time in my miserable life.”

“Oh, my goodness!” I cried. “Hazel Marie, don’t think like that. Why, Lloyd is no cause for shame. He is the light of your life, and mine. You’ve raised a fine boy, and I’m sure you’ll do just as well with this one, whatever it is.” Then recalling that she’d said she had to do it herself, I trembled. “Hazel Marie,” I whispered, “you’re not thinking of . . .
doing
something, are you?”

“You mean . . . ?”

I nodded, unable to say the word.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I couldn’t do that. That’s why I have to go off somewhere, pretend to be a widow or something. And try to make a life for it.”

“No,” I said with conviction. “No, we’ll get you and Mr. Pickens married, and that’ll solve all your problems.” I bit my lip, then proceeded. “I hate to ask this, Hazel Marie, but I guess I better. It is Mr. Pickens’s, isn’t it?”

Her head flopped down on her knees again, and she began weeping as if her heart would break. “You must think I’m terrible!”

“Oh, no. No, I don’t. I just don’t want you marrying the wrong one, that’s all.”

Trying unsuccessfully to dry her face, she said, “There’s never been anybody but him. And there never will be. But, Miss Julia, there won’t be a wedding. There’s only going to be another little bastard—excuse me for saying an ugly word, but that’s what everybody else will say. Because J.D. won’t marry me. That’s why we broke up in the first place.”

“You mean he
knows
about this?” I was shocked. I knew that Mr. Pickens danced to his own tune, but even he couldn’t be so callous.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, he doesn’t. I just found out myself when Dr. McKay told me the test was positive. But he’s not
going
to know, because I never want to see him again as long as I live. If J.D. won’t marry me for myself, I don’t want him marrying me for a baby.”

Well, I didn’t see why not. As far as I was concerned, that was the best reason of all to marry, and it didn’t matter to me how many movie stars had babies out of wedlock. Their example didn’t make it right, and I determined then and there that Mr. Pickens was going to do the right thing, come hell or high water, although I am not a cursing kind of woman by any stretch of the imagination.

 

 

 

I don’t know how in the world I got home in one piece, the way thoughts were flitting in and out of my head like a swarm of bees. Could that doctor have gotten it wrong? How could he have mixed up an ulcer or a parasite with a baby? What kind of test had he run? Maybe the test was wrong. Was he so young and untried that he needed help to diagnosis something that should’ve been obvious? Not to me, you understand, but to a doctor. Dr. Hargrove wouldn’t have had to rely on a nurse, but thank goodness for the woman’s common sense.

And, if Hazel Marie continued in her resolve to reject Mr. Pickens, what were we going to do with another illegitimate child? It had taken every favor and every cent owed to me to get the town to accept Hazel Marie and Lloyd, but even I couldn’t expect them to overlook a second slip.