Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 02 - Papoosed (9 page)

            “The little sailor trousers and top are cute!” said Marjorie as she held up each item.

            “And she has several onesies,” added Opal.  “These will be very practical and totally non-sexist.”  The women sorted through the doll clothes and selected ones right for the baby. Marjorie quickly dressed him in a blue and yellow onesie that covered his small naked feet.  Once clothed in his new outfit, the baby looked warm and cozy.  As Opal took the rubber glove that Antonio had just finished back to the kitchen, Marjorie placed the baby in her walker basket and she and Opal headed into Essie’s bedroom to change what would soon no doubt be a dirty diaper.   Essie continued to peruse the telephone book and Fay, left to her own devices, picked up the remote for Essie’s television and turned it on.

            “This just in,” said an announcer’s voice, “local authorities have just released the name of the individual killed in that multi-car crash outside of Reardon last night on Highway 79.  Sherriff’s Office officials say Gerald Compton, age 35 of Reardon, was killed instantly when his car rammed into another vehicle around 6:00 p.m. last night.  The driver of the other vehicle remains in serious condition in a local hospital, name withheld pending notification of next of kin.”  The camera focused on a white sedan butted up against a large tree, its entire front end totally caved in.

            “Goggles and galoshes!” shouted Essie, bringing Opal and Marjorie back into the living room with a newly outfitted baby, awake and cheerfully cooing in the basket of Marjorie’s walker basket.

            “What is it?” called out Opal.  “We could hear you scream from all the way in your bathroom.”

            “It’s Antonio’s father,” said Essie, “he’s dead!”

            “Oh, no!” cried Marjorie.

            “Oh, no!” echoed Opal. 

            Just then there was a knock on Essie’s door and a voice outside called out, “Exterminator, Ma’am!”

Chapter Ten

“There is nothing more concrete than dealing with babies, burps and bottles, frogs and mud.”

–Jeane Kirkpatrick

            “What should we do?” whispered Essie to her friends.

            “Stall him, Essie,” said Opal, as the three women quickly wrapped the baby tightly in his blankets and tucked him inside Marjorie’s walker basket.  Essie rolled over to her front door and spoke through a crack, “Just a minute, please.”

            “Okay, let him in,” said Marjorie, as Essie opened the front door revealing a young man in overalls carrying a large metal canister attached to a spray nozzle. 

            “Here to spray, Ma’am,” he announced.

            “Fine,” replied Essie, “it’s all yours!  We’re taking a walk.”

            “Yes, Ma’am,” replied the man, as a line of elderly ladies stormed out of the apartment with their vehicles single file, all providing him with gracious cheesy smiles as they departed. 

            Essie led her little troupe of elderly babysitters through the family room and down a back hallway.  As she passed each open doorway, she checked to see if there were any empty locations where the four women could park for a while and contemplate their next moves–and also where they might safely bring little baby Antonio out of his basket prison.

            Eventually Essie ducked into an open doorway about halfway down the back hall.  Opal, Marjorie, and Fay followed in behind her.  This was the Happy Haven Chapel.  It only consisted of about eight pews and an altar which was really just a table with a large bronze cross on it.  The best thing about the chapel, thought Essie, was the windows.  Unlike most of the windows at Happy Haven, these windows were tinted in delicate pastel shades and abstract designs.  They really didn’t portray much religious symbolism, but they gave a wonderful feeling of calmness and warmth to the small room.  Many times, Essie had come into the chapel just to think or reflect or … communicate with God.  Some people called that praying, but Essie had her own way of describing things. 

            Essie moved quickly to behind the last row of pews where Marjorie and Opal gathered near her.  Fay gently pushed the chapel door shut and joined them, their walkers and her wheelchair circled together like a group of pioneers in a wagon train.  Marjorie carefully opened the lid of her basket to discover that baby Antonio was fast asleep. 

            “If that chapel door opens, Marjorie … .” warned Essie, shaking her finger.

            “Don’t worry, Essie,” responded Marjorie in a whisper.  “I’m getting good at this.”

            “We all are,” added Opal.  She pulled her jacket tighter and shivered.  The chapel might look warm but it certainly didn’t feel it.  “Now, Essie, what next?  Do we have to cool our heels here in the chapel for hours until the bug man is finished spraying your apartment?”

            “We could go to my place,” suggested Marjorie.  “It’s warmer.”  She rubbed her hands together and blew into them.

            “No!” replied Essie.  “It won’t be long.  Let’s keep this close to home.  I don’t want to chance having Antonio being moved too far from home base … .”

            “Your apartment being home base!” said Opal with a huff. 

            “It’s not that, Opal!” argued Essie.  “I just need to stay close to my room in case Santos comes looking for me.  I told him to come tell me the minute he had any new information.”

            “And you don’t think the fact that the baby’s father was killed in a car wreck is new information?” asked Marjorie. 

            “It is!” agreed Essie.  “Can you three stay here with Antonio while I go back to the kitchen and let Santos know?  He probably has no idea about the accident and that Gerald Compton is dead!  This changes everything!”

            “Maybe for the good!” added Marjorie, stomping back and forth from one foot to another to warm her feet. “At least that brute can’t hurt this baby now!  Excuse me Lord for speaking ill of the dead.”  She looked up at the chapel ceiling and crossed herself. 

            “True!” said Essie.  “Now that Gerald is dead and out of the picture, maybe Maria, the mother, will come back for baby Antonio and we can return him to where he rightfully belongs!”

            “From your lips to God’s ears!” added Opal, peering over at the altar.

            “What are you waiting for, Essie?” asked Marjorie.  “Get going!  We’ll stay here with the baby.  And try to stay warm.  If anyone comes in, we’ll just say we’re … .”

            “We’ll say we’re conducting a group prayer session,” suggested Opal, with a flourish of her hands like an orchestra conductor.  Fay and Marjorie nodded appreciatively at this suggestion and Essie turned her walker and headed out of the chapel.

            She zoomed back down the hallway and through the family room and lobby.  Luckily, no one appeared to be in the lobby at this time except Phyllis, the front desk clerk, who was manning her station by the front door.  Essie waved a greeting as she wheeled by.  Phyllis responded with a cheerful ‘hello.’

            “Merry Christmas, Essie!” she called out as Essie whizzed by towards the dining hall.

            “Merry Christmas, Phyllis!” replied Essie, wiggling her fingers quickly at the clerk. 

            “Don’t forget the carolers this afternoon, Essie!” yelled Phyllis at Essie’s back.  “They’re going to be wonderful!”

            “Yes! Yes!” replied Essie as she rolled into the dining hall.

            Pushing her walker quickly around the empty tables and through the deserted room, Essie rolled to the kitchen entrance and came to a halt.  She stood looking into the kitchen, wondering if she should just enter on her own or wait until one of the workers came out so she could ask to speak to Santos.  Unable to decide, she moved over to her regular table and sat at her regular spot.

            Within a few minutes, Santos appeared at her side.

            “Miss Essie!” he cried.  “Where is baby?” 

            “Stop fretting, Santos,” replied Essie.  “I told you Opal and Marjorie and Fay are watching him.  I came back here to see if you had heard the news about Gerald Compton?”

            “No, Miss Essie,” replied the young man, “What news?”

            “It was on the television just a bit ago,” she said.  “Gerald Compton was in a car crash last night!  He’s dead, Santos!”

            “Oh,
Madre Dios
!” exclaimed Santos.  “How is Maria?  Was she with Gerald?”

            “The news report did not mention Maria,” replied Essie.  “Apparently, Gerald was driving alone in his car and was in a multi-car collision.  The reporter said there was another victim in another car who was in the hospital but no names were given.”

            “I cannot believe Maria would be with Gerald in his car,” offered Santos.  “Maria try to get far away from Gerald!  I do not understand, Miss Essie.  Where is Maria?  If Gerald is dead, where is Maria?  Why she not come to get Antonio?”

            “That’s what I want to know too,” said Essie.  “Do you think Maria has left town?  Maybe she doesn’t know about Gerald.  Maybe she hasn’t heard that he’s dead. Could she be the driver of the other car?”

            “Maria cannot drive,” explained Santos. “She walks to work every day. ”  He stood forlornly in front of her twisting a dish towel in his hands as he contemplated the whereabouts of his friend.

            “Can you think of anywhere she might be?  Anyone she might contact?  Anyone she would trust?”

            “No, Miss Essie, no!”

            Essie became quiet.  She heaved a loud sigh and stared at her lap.  Santos gripped his towel and slowly edged himself into the seat beside her.  It was not acceptable behavior for the kitchen staff to sit at the residents’ tables, but neither Essie nor the young man next to her were particularly concerned about propriety at the moment.  Looks of despair covered both of their faces. 

            “Santos,” said Essie eventually, glancing over at the young man in his starched white uniform, perched on the edge of the chair next to hers, “we simply can’t wait indefinitely for Maria to return.  The baby’s father is dead.  His mother is nowhere to be found.  We have a moral–no actually–we have a legal obligation to turn this baby over to social services.”  She gently placed her hand on top of Santos’ left hand which was clutching the edge of the table. 

            Santos’s eyes filled with tears as he looked back into Essie’s eyes. 

            “Please, Miss Essie,” he begged, “Please, not yet!  We must find Maria!”  He grabbed Essie’s hand with his and squeezed it.  If anyone had been watching the two sitting there in the Happy Haven dining hall, they might have thought that they were witnessing a romantic tryst between an older woman and her much younger suitor.  Santos squeezed Essie’s hand again.  “Please!”

            “All right,” replied Essie, removing her hand from his grasp.  “I will try to find Maria.  Maybe I can find out where she is and get her to come back for Antonio before we have to report him.  Can you think of any place where she might be hiding?  Or where she might have gone?”

            “No, Miss Essie,” said Santos.  “I try and think and think where Maria go. Maybe Gerald hurt Maria before he is killed in car accident.  Maybe Gerald … he, how you say? 
Encerr
ó
… lock up Maria.”

            “You think Maria might be at her home and unable to answer her phone?” asked Essie.

            “I do not know,” said Santos.  “But Maria’s apartment is very close to Happy Haven.  I will go to Maria’s apartment now and see if she is there.  I know where Maria keeps key.  Maria says Gerald keeps a . .
.  
llave de repuesto
… a …
how you say? Spore key?”

            “You mean a spare key?”

            “Si!  Spare key!  He keeps spare key under the
felpudo
… is in front of door?”

            “Door mat?” guessed Essie.  She was becoming a good translator.

            “
Si
,” replied Santos, “I get the key and look inside apartment.  Maybe Maria is inside and cannot go to the telephone.”

            “That’s a good idea,” replied Essie.  “At least you won’t have to worry about her husband being there.”

            “
Si
,” agreed Santos.  “I am sorry, Miss Essie, to say this to you, but I am not sorry Gerald is dead.”

            “Given what that man did to that baby and to his wife,” replied Essie, “neither am I.”   She patted Santos’s hand and stood up.  “I’m going back to check on Antonio now.”  She smiled encouragingly at the young man and then rolled out of the dining hall.