No Crystal Stair (13 page)

“Need?”The surgeon turned a puzzled face to him.

“To operate? Instruments—”

“I'll just need a portable oxygen tent. I'm taking him to Children's Hospital.”

“You're what?” Dr. Carter's voice was incredulous.

“He's a newborn baby. I couldn't possibly risk it here without my special equipment and staff.” He picked up the phone beside Ann Elizabeth's bed and dialed. “Nurse Califf, please.” He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table while he waited, then spoke into the phone. “Mrs. Califf? I've got a small problem for you. I want you to get the operating room ready.
A newborn baby. Trachea. I'm bringing him over now. A little colored baby. He ... Yes, that's what I said ... Well, I'm gonna do it. You just get the room ready.” A flush rose to his face and his words came now in an angry explosive grunt. “That's not your problem. Mrs. Califf. You just get the room ready,” he said before he slammed the down the phone.

Ann Elizabeth's heart flooded with fear. Her baby, in the hands of nurses, who didn't want him, who wouldn't care ... She looked around for her father, but he and Dan had gone, probably to arrange for the portable tent. “Listen, Dr. Benson, maybe this isn't wise. If they don't want him—”

“Do I have to fight you, too?' His voice was curt and she winced.

“No, I just thought that if—”

“You want your baby to live, don't you?”

She nodded. If there was no choice ... “I want to go with him.”

For a moment he looked doubtful. Then he shrugged. “Of course.

 

 

Children's Hospital was located in a luxurious section of Atlanta seldom visited by Ann Elizabeth. But she had, on one or two occasions, caught a glimpse of the stately seven story brick building set in a park, studded with trees and paved walks, and enclosed by a wrought-iron fence. On warm days, you might see children wheeled about in wheelchairs or walking with nurses. It had never occurred to any of the Carters that they'd ever be inside the structure. But at the moment Ann Elizabeth was hardly thinking of where she was or how she'd gotten there. She waited in the basement of the vast building, her mind focused on what was happening in an operating room somewhere far above her. Her father and Dan had been permitted to go up and view the operation from the observation room.

Take care of my baby.
I'm trying, Rob. I'm trying.

Dr. Benson is trying. Please God, guide his hands. Please, God.

It seemed forever. Her mother was even more perturbed than she was, and Ann Elizabeth tried to reassure her. “He' going to be fine, Mother. Sadie says Dr. Benson can perform miracles.” She began to talk faster, as she always did when she was worried. “We're lucky. I mean, Sadie being a nurse and all and working with him and knowing who to call. Strange how things happen, isn't it?”

“Yes,”Julia belle said. “Strange.”

They waited in the basement room, Ann Elizabeth's eyes constantly straying to an empty crib with complicated equipment beside it.

Two hours later, the baby was brought in. Dr. Benson followed. He hardly glanced at them but went straight to the crib to see the baby settled in. Ann Elizabeth watched apprehensively as she saw all the tubes they attached to her tiny boy.

“Is he all right?” she asked Dr. Benson when he finally turned to them.

“He's fine. The operation went well.”

“But all those tubes. He looks so ...”

“Postoperative treatment is as important as surgery. I'm stationing a nurse in constant attendance,” he said. The tiny tracheotomy tube would remain in the baby's throat until the trachea healed. The equipment, she'd noticed was a suction pump. Whenever the baby coughed, the nurse would use its electronically powered syringe to suck out the phlegm threatening to choke him.

A much-relived, still-apprehensive Ann Elizabeth tried to thank the doctor, but mere words seemed inadequate. “He's such a kind caring man,” she said to her mother once he'd departed.

“Definitely a skilled surgeon,”Julia Belle said.

Dan and her father confirmed this, full of praise about the excellent surgery they'd witnessed.

“I am so grateful to him,” said Ann Elizabeth, “Both for the surgery and daring to bring us here. But also to Sadie and to you, Dan, for recognizing the problem.” She smiled at him. “Dad was right, you
are
the best doctor in town.”

“Not yet. Maybe the best colored doctor,” he said. “But I mean to be right up there with the rest of them.” His expression was a strange mixture of envy and grim determination. “If you've got the training ... and the right arena, you can do anything. God, Ann Elizabeth, you should have seen that operating room!”

 

 

Robert Gerald Metcalf,Jr., thrived. How could he help it, with all the tender loving care he got from his white nurses?

“They treat him,” said Dr. Benson, “like he was the king of Babylon. Always asking to get the shift down here. They adore the little booga,”

It was true. The baby had benefited from the same efficient technology and received the same thoughtful care that would have been given to any white patient. The nurses were not in the least resentful, as she'd expected.

They were equally gentle and competent with her. It might have been Miss Emma bathing her, carefully handling the breast pump. “I know it's painful, honey. Try to relax. There. That wasn't too bad, was it?” They talked and laughed with her, shared experiences. Freida, the little redhead on the early morning shift was engaged to an intern, Oliver, and was planning her wedding in the fall. Kate, the older woman, had a son fighting overseas and a bedridden husband at home. Strange how they'd become like friends in such a short time.

Julia Belle came every day to see her grandson. “Little brown baby with sparkling eyes,” she would croon whenever she visited. His eyes did sparkle. His skin was brown and he had thick
black hair that lay in soft curls. “And he's got dimples. Ann Elizabeth, just like his father.”

Ann Elizabeth smiled. She'd never thought of the creases in Rob's cheeks as dimples. But yes, he did look like Rob.

Rob. It was as if she'd put thoughts of him aside while their baby was in danger. She'd been afraid to tell him he was a father—until she could add “a beautiful healthy boy.” Dr. Benson declared that Bobby was out of danger now, but still she waited. When she was sure when all those ugly ... No, not ugly! When all those wonderful health-giving tubes were removed. Then she'd take picture and send Rob volumes about their boy.

 

 

She was thrilled when the tubes came out and she could hold her baby in her arms, so warm and ... alive. “Thanks to you.” She said over and over to Dr. Benson.

As always he shrugged off her thanks. “We'll keep him a few days longer to see how he progresses. Then you can both go home.”

Ann Elizabeth became fully conscious of the magnitude of her debt to Dr. Benson the day the Negro maid who came to clean every morning confided in her.

“Lord a mercy, honey, you all done sure kicked up a ruckus!” It was the first day no white person had been in attendance, and the wiry dark-skinned maid deliberately put aside her mop and pail and prepared to say what she'd clearly been dying to say all week. “Yes, siree, you and that little fellow over there done blacked up the hallowed halls of this lily-white hospital. Lemme fluff up that pillow for you.” The dark face bent over Ann Elizabeth, the gold crown on a front tooth flashing with her conspiratorial grin. “Never seen such carryin' on in all my born days. There, that's better.”

“Thank you. I'm sorry. I didn't know how much trouble ...” She hesitated. “Well, I did know, but ...” Her whole mind had been absorbed with her baby.

“You musta knowed you the first colored patients we ever had. And I reckon you'll be the last if Dr. Sinclair has his say. Didn't know where to put you in the first place. Old Nurse Califf, soon as she seen Dr. Benson bound to bring you, she tell me to get down here and fix up this room in the basement. Ain't nothing else down here but supplies and x-ray.” She paused, hands on hips, and looked around. “Got it fixed up real nice, don't you think?”

“Yes. It's very comfortable. You did a fine job. Thank you.”

“Shoot. No need to thank me. I meant for you to have everything them white folks upstairs has. I could see Nurse Califf was mad as a wet hen. Couldn't wait to tell Dr. Sinclair.”

“Who's Dr. Sinclair?”

“He the head man, honey. And when he find out Dr. Benson done operated on a colored baby, that's when the shit hit the fan!”

Ann Elizabeth remembered Dr. Benson's flushed face. She hadn't even thought of his predicament. “I hope we didn't cause him too much trouble,” she said.

“Who? Doc Benson?”The little maid gave a hoot of laughter. “Don't nobody mess with him. Nurse Califf say he the best—”

“But you said—”

“Oh yeah, Doc Sinclair go up in smoke! Come into Dr. Benson's office for what he say gonna be a private talk. But he shouted so loud, I 'spect you could hear it down here.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Sorry? Shit! Was all I could do to keep from bustin' out laughing. I was cleaning the washroom in Dr. Benson's office and they didn't know I was there. Cracked the door a mite and didn't miss a word. ”I like to know where you get off,” Dr.
Sinclair say in that whine of his. He a doctor but he sure talk like a poor cracker. He ask Dr. Benson, ”What you mean, hauling anybody you please into this here hospital?”

‘“Always bring my patients here,”' Dr. Benson say, cool as a cucumber.”

“‘You know what I mean,'Dr. Sinclair shout. ‘You know we don't 'low no pickaninnies in here.'

“Dr. Benson say how he's a doctor and he wouldn't turn a dog down, much less a pickaninny.”

“Then Dr. Sinclair ask‘do he expect white nurses to attend a black nigger baby.'“

‘“They doing it,' say Dr. Benson.”

“‘What!'Dr. Sinclair shout. It was all I could do to keep from opening that door to see his face. Don't matter. I could hear it turnin‘red. Sound like Dr. Benson was rustling some papers and he say kinda matter-of-fact, ‘They all seem crazy about the little fella. Treat him like he's the king of Babylon.”'

“That's true,” said Ann Elizabeth.

“That's 'cause he's about the cutest baby that ever been in this hospital.” She bent over the crib and gazed down at the sleeping infant. “Look at him, all smooth and brown. Not pale and wrinkled up like them newborns upstairs.”

“And healthy now. I'm so grateful. Everyone's been so kind.”

“Oh yeah, they real nice. Some of em.” The maid swished the mop energetically across the floor, then put it with the pail outside. She returned to pick up Ann Elizabeth's breakfast tray. “This has been some going-on, I tell you. Wouldn‘t've missed it for the world!”The gold tooth flashed with another grin. “Well, got to get along. See you in the mornin',” she said before she went out, shutting the door behind her.

November 19, 1944

 

T
he day was misty and gray. A hint of winter chill lurked in the breeze that sent the colorful leaves scattering across the lawn.

In the Carter kitchen the air was warm, and rich with the sweet smell of holiday baking. Nutmeg, ginger and vanilla mingled with the lemon rind Julia Belle was grating for the lemon-iced cake Randy loved.

“Do you think they'll get this by Christmas?” Sophie, enveloped in a big white apron, looked up from the fruitcake batter she was mixing.

“They'd better.” Julia Belle's mouth tightened. She had no patience with a war that dragged on and on, keeping her son, who shouldn't have been there in the first place, in constant danger.

“Usually takes six weeks. We should be in time if we get the boxes off this week. And don't let me forget—Sadie brought over some of her mother's fried peach tarts. She says Randy especially likes them.” Ann Elizabeth licked her finger, sampling the frosting she was smoothing on the devil's food cake, Rob's favorite. She bent to offer a taste to Bobby, playing at her feet. He pushed his building blocks aside and stood up, clutching his mother's skirt, clamoring for more.

“Now that was a mistake,” Sophie cautioned. “You shouldn't encourage him to like sweets.”

“Oh, Aunt Sophie, half the fun of the holidays when I was a girl was eating up the leftovers in Mother's missing bowl—if
I could get to them before Randy. Never did me any harm and it's not going to harm my healthy boy.”

“Healthy is right,” Julia Belle dumped the lemon rind into the double boiler, set the mixture on the stove and began to stir. “When I think how I sat in that room praying for him to stay alive, it seems like a miracle.”

Because of quick and expert surgery, Ann Elizabeth thought. Not until she'd been at Children's Hospital did she realize how makeshift the Carter Hospital was. For the past six months, she'd been doing volunteer work there and had become fully cognizant of the inadequate facilities. Hardly more than a holding facility for the damaged children who were brought in needing special equipment and expert care. And weren't getting it. Bobby was lucky, thanks to Dan and Dr. Benson, who'd kept a careful watch on him for months. Only a tiny scar at the base of his throat remained from the ordeal at his birth. He was a happy active fifteen-month-old boy, and the adored center of the Carter household.

“He sure is cute, Ann Elizabeth,” Sophie said. “Just like his dad with that chocolate skin and those dimples.”

“Yes. I must have more pictures taken.” For Rob. To send along with the goodies and other gifts. Hard to believe that pictures were all he'd seen of his boy. Rob. That happy time in Tuskegee seemed like a long-ago dream. “No more,” she said to Bobby, who was still demanding more. “Sit down and let Mommy show you how to stack these blocks.”

“Come over here, honey,” Sophie entreated. “If your mom can spoil you, so can I. You want a taste of this?”

Bobby did. He deserted the blocks for Aunt Sophie, climbing on a chair to reach the table, almost upsetting the piles of nuts and dried fruit destined for the fruitcake. Ann Elizabeth managed to catch him just in time.

“All right, you worked for it.” Sophie chuckled as she held out a spoon with a bit of cake batter to Bobby, now squirming
in his mother's arms. “Did you see him climbing, Julia Belle? I declare that boy's like a little monkey.”

“You got that right.”A breath of cool outside air cut through the baking smells as Dr. Carter entered the kitchen. “I tell Ann Elizabeth she'd better put a leash on him or she'll find him scampering along a branch of the magnolia tree one of these days. Come here to Grandpa.” He took the boy from her and swung him to his shoulder. “Sit with me while I read about what your dad and his buddies are doing to those Krauts!” he said as he unfolded a copy of the
Pittsburgh Courier.

Ann Elizabeth winced. The
Pittsburgh Courier,
the leading Negro paper, always carried full accounts of the activities of the Negro airmen, praising their performance, expertise and daring in the line of fire. But all she could think of was “line of fire.” It had been bad enough in Tuskegee, when her heart turned over with every daring roll of Rob's plane. But now they had antiaircraft gunfire and German fighters aiming at them.

She tried not to listen as her father read, pride ringing in every word. “‘The Ninety-ninth shoots down twelve German fighters in two days ... The 332nd Fighter Group gets the new P51-Ds.' Aha!” Dr. Carter looked up from the paper. “They're upgrading our boys' planes. Beginning to recognize their worth.”

“Randy said,‘we'll show them,'” commented Sophie. “Those were his very words.”

“They're showing them, all right. Listen to this. ‘Captain Edward Denton downs three Jerries on one mission with his new P51.”'

“Eddie Denton,” said Julia Belle. “Isn't that the chubby dark skinned boy Randy brought with him one weekend? He and his wife. You remember, Ann Elizabeth. We took her shopping at Rich's.”

“Yes,” Ann Elizabeth replied. “Rose Denton. She's back in Ohio now with her folks.”
Waiting, just as I'm waiting, for this
horrible war to be over.
What was it all about, anyway? Wars were stupid. Good people, killing and being killed. Maybe she ought to feel patriotic and proud, hearing of their brave exploits. But she just felt a little sick. Hard to imagine Rob killing someone. Not her gentle Rob. Not happy-go-lucky Randy, who'd never hated anyone.

“Well, our boys are showing heir mettle,” Dr. Carter said. “And thank God for the Negro press. Otherwise we wouldn't know a damn thing about it. Come along, Bobby, let's clip and paste all this good news in out scrapbook.”

Ann Elizabeth watched her father retreat with Bobby on his shoulder, glad he'd taken the newspaper with him. The newspaper that brought the war closer and filled her with fear. She was glad her mother and aunt were too busy mixing the fruitcake batter to continue the discussion. They'd begun to pour the mixture into half a dozen oblong pans she'd lined with well-oiled brown paper. She studied each pan carefully, directing the women's work. “That's enough in that one ... too much in this one.” She had found that if she concentrated hard on what she was doing—volunteering at the hospital, entertaining Bobby, portioning out cake dough—she sometimes forgot that she might never see Rob again. Might never hear his merry whistle, see him with Bobby, lie in his arms.

“Do you think I should, Ann Elizabeth?” Sophie asked.

“Should what?” she had tuned out their conversation.

“Ask Dan for Thanksgiving dinner. Helen Rose and Clyde are coming.” Clyde was at the veterans' hospital in Tuskegee, an easy traveling distance.

Ann Elizabeth hesitated. “I suppose...,”

“Of course you should ask him,” said Julia Belle. “It'd be a shame for him to be alone on a holiday.”

“Oh, I don't think there's any danger of that.” Sophie gave a dry chuckle. “Plenty of invitations, which I understand he mostly refuses. I think you ought to know people are talking
about the amount of time he's spent at the Carter household since Ann Elizabeth's return.”

“Let them talk!” Julia Belle snapped. “He's Bobby's doctor, and you know he works with Will at the hospital.”

“And still looks at Ann Elizabeth like he could eat her up.”

“Oh, Sophie, don't go making too much of it. Of course he's a fond of Ann Elizabeth, always has been. But Dan Trent's a gentleman and his visits here are open and aboveboard.”

“Lordy, I know that. But other people don't. Fanny told me that Sally Richards said—”

“Sally Richards is a jealous bitch. She ought to know by now that if Dan wanted Jennie Lou he'd—”

“I'd better check on Bobby. It's his bedtime and he must be driving Dad crazy.” Ann Elizabeth hurried from the room. She felt sorry for Dan. All these speculations. If and when and who he'd marry. Nothing about what an excellent doctor he was and how hard he worked. She'd never realized until she worked with him at the hospital, how dedicated he was to his profession.

“Damn shame, Ann Elizabeth,” he'd told her the other day, not hiding his frustration. “Folks come to us, paying for what they think is the best care, and they get shortchanged. And that's not our fault. Do you know there's not one black doctor in the state of Georgia who's qualified by the American Medical Association Board of Surgeons?”

She hadn't known. Had never thought about it.

“Not exactly our fault,” Dan had said again. “There's not one accredited private hospital in the state where a black surgeon is permitted to practice.” No, Carter Hospital wasn't accredited. A whole lot of money was needed for accreditation—adequate facilities, equipment, not to mention staff.

Something else she'd never thought about.

Dan had said other things. About what wasn't and what ought to be. Ann Elizabeth had listened and empathized. Of course there ought to be an accredited hospital for private
black patients. Of course there ought to be qualified black surgeons. Yes, training took time and money. Yes, of course Dan should make that sacrifice. Only she and her father knew that Dan had applied to Freedman's Hospital in Washington D.C., to train under the eminent black physician, Charles Drew, who had perfected the technique of preserving blood plasma, which was saving the lives of so many injured men overseas.

Ann Elizabeth liked Dan, admired him. All right, it was more than that. She enjoyed being with him, felt flattered that he confided in her, was glad to help him relax over a game of bridge with her parents. Sadie came to their home quite often, too, sometimes alone, sometimes with Dan. Funny, Ann Elizabeth thought. Her mother never alluded to Sadie and Randy's engagement; in fact, she seemed to shy away from the subject. But she did think Julia Belle had begun to enjoy Sadie's company. Perhaps she simply craved
any
company. Like Ann Elizabeth did. Keeping busy, having friends over, helped dull and sometimes banish the worry about Rob.

Rob. There were indications that the war was drawing to a close. He might be home soon. And then?

The rush of gladness was always impaled by that disquieting “and then?” Where would they live? They couldn't go back to that little room in Mrs. Anderson's house. Or to the Tuskegee base—standing in a hangar listening to jazz, dancing at the Officers' Club, watching the planes flying round and round. The war was almost over. And for the first time she realized that the whole two years of her married life had been built around a war.

Never mind. Rob would be home soon. They'd talk about it then. Where they would live. What he would do. She lifted Bobby from his bath, dried and powdered him, sang a little lullaby as she settled him in his crib. Tomorrow she would have more pictures made to include with the Christmas gifts.

 

 

March 1, 1945
The early dawn of a beautiful day somewhere in Italy

 

Captain Robert Metcalf tucked the well-worn pictures of his son into the pocket of his flight jacket and climbed into the cockpit of his P-40. He gave a good-luck salute to Randy, first in command on this mission to strafe a German airfield, then took off behind him in formation with the rest of the squadron.

It was a strange sight. All those German planes, row upon row of them, lined up like sitting ducks. A few bullets into the gas tanks and they'd burst into flames. Strange that not one of them took off.

“I'm going down,”Randy signaled. “Cover for me.”He peeled off from the others.

Rob, following directly behind, saw Randy's plane go into a sudden dive. He'd been hit!

“Eject!” he radioed. “Jump, Randy.” He'd go down after him and ... Even as his feverish brain registered the thoughts he saw Randy's plane begin to roll over and over, slowly, making a complete circle. He gasped in horror as it plunged to the ground and exploded like a cannonball, igniting everything around it, smoke billowing and flames leaping in a wall of fire two blocks long. The forty-thousand-dollar coffin. With Randy inside it.

A wave of sickness swept over him. Randy. He didn't expect ... didn't want to believe it. Not Randy.

A deafening explosion rent his ears and the sky lit with flames as the plane beside his blew up. Lawrence? God, it could've been him!

He forced himself to put feeling aside. Antiaircraft fire from the ground was coming at them like mad. They were being peppered by tracer bullets that were picking them off like flies. Damn! Rob propelled his plane upward to escape the line of fire.

At eight thousand feet he paused to consider. With Randy gone, he was now in command of the squadron scattered by
the most hellish ground fire he'd ever experienced. No German fighter planes, but the antiaircraft missiles had been hot and heavy. The Germans were trying to save their planes. And why weren't those damn planes blowing up? They'd shot at them but nothing happened! It came to him. No gas. The Germans were running out of fuel. No gas to catch their planes on fire. No gas to lift those fighter planes into the air.

He started to laugh hysterically as he radioed and reassembled his scattered formation.

The battered squadron went down one more time, braving the still-heavy ground fire. They shot into the immobile planes, causing enough damage to render them useless. But how much damage, Rob wondered, was worth the men they'd lost?

Randy. God, how could he tell Ann Elizabeth?

They had done all they could. He signaled to the men “Mission completed. Return to base.”

He pulled back the stick for an upward climb, but the plane refused to gain altitude. It had been damaged. He'd never make it back to Italy. He radioed to the others that he'd been hit and would try to get to Switzerland. But he knew as he turned in that direction that he could barely make it over the Alps. He was unsure of his location. Even now he was losing altitude. He was in real trouble.