O Little Town (15 page)

Colleen interceded. “Dove, that is not what this is about. Doris has had a very bad day and she’s not herself. Please just ignore her and forgive her. She’ll be better in the morning.”

“Don’t make excuses for me. I’m fine. And Miss Dove, if any other member of my family gets sick, don’t feel obligated to come. Okay? But then you probably wouldn’t anyway. You don’t get out in middle of the night for just anyone, now, do you?”

Dr. Sterrett appeared mercifully behind Doris’ chair. “Colleen, if you want, you can come back now.”

He led her away, and the waiting room fell so silent you could hear the police calls coming in on Officer Tolley’s radio. Someone had slipped in a ditch out on Route 250 but no one was hurt. A little shaken up, but nobody hurt.

CHAPTER 25

Walter was up and dressed by nine a.m. on Christmas Eve morning. He knew it was nine a.m. because as he was tying his oxfords, he heard the bells ring nine times from the steeple of the Mason Street Methodist Church. Dr. Yandall had already released him and made an appointment to see him in two days. Then he wished Walter a Merry Christmas.

Walter called Doris since he had agreed to spend the holidays at her house. He wasn’t happy about this arrangement—he really would have preferred to spend it with Colleen and Milton, but then he did look forward to seeing Louis Wayne and Hoyt.

Doris and Colleen came in the room together and each kissed him on the cheek.

“Dad, are you ready to go?” Doris looked tired.

“I’ve been ready since five thirty this morning,” he lied.

“Dad, there’s something we need to tell you before we go.”

He heard a seriousness in Colleen’s voice that didn’t match the season. Was it more news about his health? Certainly it couldn’t get much worse than it already was.

“What’s wrong now, sweetie?”

“We brought Milton in to the hospital last night. He’s had a stroke.”

Well, he was wrong. It could get worse.

She continued, “It was a minor stroke but he’s going to be in here for a while. We found him at the store around midnight.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s just down the hall. We can stop and see him on the way out if you want or if you don’t—”

“Of course I want to.” Walter picked up his small suitcase and started toward the door, but Doris stopped him.

“Dad, Campbell said you need to take a wheelchair down to the car. And let me carry that suitcase.”

Walter turned and glared at her. “Let Campbell ride in the wheelchair. I can walk. Now what room is Milton in?”

“He’s just down the hall,” Colleen said, “in 226.”

226. That had been Adrienne’s room
. Walter caught his breath.

The three of them walked down the hall and Colleen pushed the door open. Walter stood by the bed. Milton was sleeping, and Walter had been in this sanitized hell long enough to know not to wake a sleeping man. His eyes went from Milton’s face to the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the windowsill. The building was old but then so was everything that held Walter’s respect. Fifty years ago this room held little more than a bed and washstand. Now there were tubes and lights and buzzers and metal things that had no meaning to him whatsoever. Fifty years ago he was young and anxious and full of wonder. Now he was only anxious. He looked again at Milton, then turned and walked out. The women followed him.

“We’ll take you home now.” Colleen laid her hand gently on his back.

“No, honey, you stay here. This is where you belong. Doris can take me home. I’ll be fine.” He kissed her cheek and Doris took his arm and they walked past the nurses’ station and waited in silence for the elevator.

When they were in Doris’ 1958 Lincoln, he finally asked, “How’s your boys?”

“They’re fine, Daddy, but there’s something I guess I need to tell you before we get home.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Whenever she called him “Daddy” he knew something bad was going to follow.

“We have quite the situation at our house. Louis Wayne has been seeing a girl in secret—the Briggs girl. Shirley Ann. Do you know who I mean?”

He knew who she meant. He had seen them at church talking and giggling with one another, and if she hadn’t been able to tell there was something in the air between those two, then she had been wearing blinders for eyeglasses.

“Well, we found out just yesterday she is expecting and believe it or not, it’s Louis Wayne’s. I know this is another shocker … but I just want you to know what’s going on in our house.”

“Is Louis Wayne planning on doing the right thing by her?”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid so. He’s very determined.”

“Determined, is he? Wonder where he gets that?”

“Is that all you’re going to say about it?”

“What else can be said? He made his bed. He’ll do all right. In my day people got married young. It didn’t kill them. They survived. The boy has a lot of grit, Doris. Don’t underestimate him.”

Nothing more was said on the subject as they pulled out into the traffic.

“The drugstore is up here on the right. Do you need to stop for anything?”

Walter looked out the side window at the blue-cold day. The snow had stopped but the clouds remained. Icicles hung from the eaves of the buildings they passed. He didn’t need anything from the drugstore but he did want to stop for something else.

“Nothing from the drugstore, but there is someplace I’d like to go before we go home. Drive through the cemetery. I want to stop at your mother’s grave.”

Without any question or comment, she did just that. She drove him in through the main gate, up the hill, and turned to the right and stopped the car by the Selman family plot. She came around and helped him out of the car, but then he said something she wasn’t expecting.

“You stay here. I can make it okay. I want to walk up there by myself.”

“Dad, you have no business—”

“I’ll be okay. Just give me a few minutes.”

Walter Selman walked alone through the cemetery reading tombstones as he went. First his father’s, then his mother’s, and then Ella’s.
May they all rest in peace.
He stood for a moment at each while his daughter watched him from beside the car. Then he walked a bit farther and stopped at a small headstone near the stone wall. He stood there in the wind for a long time, and when he came back to the car, there were tears in his eyes. Doris said nothing.

As she drove the car back down the hill, she glanced over and noticed he had settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. Doris thought he was asleep, but he wasn’t.

The community church choir continued to sing carols every night on the front lawn of the hospital and vowed to do so until Adrienne was well enough to be released. A few patients or their families complained about the noise, but for the most part, the quiet, respectful, and gentle gathering of well-wishers was well received. A hint of carnival joined the ranks when one of the downtown restaurants sent a wagon full of steaming coffee and the local bakery sent a cart of pastries and sold them to the freezing bystanders. But a reverent hush came over all when Lawrence Westerly, the hospital administrator, stepped out the front door onto the top step and made his announcement on Tuesday evening, the twentieth.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Mrs. Knoles is presently resting. She has had a very good day and is progressing better than the doctors had hoped for. I won’t say she’ll be out of here before Christmas, but she may be able to wave to you from her window. She thanks all of you for your support and your prayers and hopes that you continue exactly what you’re doing. The doctors and staff send those same sentiments. The only thing I might add is to ask you to be careful about leaving any garbage on the lawn. Other than that, thank you very much for your support and have a good evening.”

Before he could turn and walk back in the door, the choir began singing “Joy to the World” while the crowd offered cheers and applause for such good news. The news in the morning was even better. Mr. Westerly told them at ten o’clock sharp that Adrienne had had a good night, was resting easy, and sent her thanks to all who continued to pray for her. Walter was there for every announcement. He and his father still had their duties at the Crown, but he always took a break and ran up the street for the six o’clock news. The show at the Crown, which had been booked for months, was an unfortunate revue of a traveling chorale reading the history of a dozen famous Christmas carols and then performing them. Under ordinary circumstances this would have been a good-drawing show, but practically the same one was going on a block and a half up the street on the lawn of the local hospital for free and for a better cause.

On the morning of Thursday, December 22, 1904, Lawrence Westerly walked out the front door fifteen minutes late. The crowd had been mute since one minute after ten. The solemn look on his face telegraphed his words before he opened his mouth.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Mt. Jefferson, I do not have good news this morning. At precisely seven thirty a.m., Mrs. Knoles was rushed back into surgery due to a sudden infection. Dr. Larnette removed fourteen inches of her intestines. She is in a much-weakened state and little hope is being given her recovery. I am sorry to bring you this news.” He went back inside, leaving the whole town in shock. Walter stood with the rest of the citizens, staring up at her window, longing hopelessly for her to appear there and wave.

“Walter.” It was Dr. Larnette’s unmistakable gravelly voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to my automobile. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. When you see me, go to the back door the way you did before.”

Walter’s heart jumped. He knew that meant he would see Adrienne but he was nervous. He’d never seen a dying person before. He saw his grandmother just before she passed, but she had been asleep. And he had seen an uncle a week before he died, but he was sitting up dressed in his kitchen at the time. Before he let his mind wander too far into the uncertainty, his feet were propelling him up the hill toward Mason Street. He ran until he came to a large brick house on the corner. He jumped over the gate, ran to the door and knocked until a small sandy-haired man opened the door and smiled at him.

“Walter Selman. What are you doing out here on a cold day like this?”

“Mr. Blanchard, do you have any roses in your hothouse?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I did. How many you need?”

“How many can you spare?”

Walter was standing at the kitchen door of Lenity General when Dr. Larnette motioned him inside. As they walked up the steps, the doctor looked over his shoulder and asked, “What’s in the bag?”

“Flowers. That’s okay isn’t it?”

Larnette’s unspoken approval stood firm as they continued toward room 226.

As before, he opened the door and let Walter in and then disappeared somewhere down the hall. The room was darker and smelled different than before. He walked to her bedside and heard her rustle the sheets.

“Walter. My dear, dear Walter. You have been so loyal.” Her hand glided up to his with surprising grace and she held it with a grip that contradicted her pallor. “You held me while I bled that night. You stayed with me when everyone else deserted me. You found Nick. I’ve been told you’re never far away. And now look at you, you’re here. And you’ve brought me something. What have you brought me?”

Too stunned and saddened to speak, Walter took four red, long stemmed roses out of the bag and placed them beside her on the bed. She touched them and smiled weakly.

“Four roses. So very, very sweet.” Her voice was growing weaker with each word. “But why four, Walter? Why four?

“Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,

The bed be blest that I lie on.

Four angels to my bed,

Four angels round my head

One to watch, and one to pray,

And two to bear my soul away.

“Do you know that poem dear, dear Walter? ‘A Candle in the Dark?’”

“No.”

She suddenly screamed loud enough to bring the doctors running, “Walter! I love roses.”

And then she died.