Spring Fire (19 page)

Kitten said, "Did you hear what I heard?" and the mumbling kept on.

The strong hospital smell made Marsha cough and cross the waiting room on the second floor of the large building to open the window and breathe the fresh air.

"Hey," Kitten said, "it's cold. I'd rather have the smell." She said it more for something to say than as an actual expression of her feelings that morning. On other Friday mornings at half past ten, she would be sitting in world-lit class, in the second row of the auditorium, vaguely hearing Professor Weber's sonorous words blare out on the loud-speaker while she made flimsy notes and stared at the boy's head in front of her.

Leda had been in the University Hospital for three days. During that time, Dr. Ted Peters was her only visitor. Now Kitten and Marsha were waiting for him before they went in to see Leda.

"I wish he'd come," Marsha said. "If I miss my eleven-thirty, I'll have to take a separate econ quiz." She sat down in the black leather rocker and picked through the pages of "Look." It was an old issue, and she had read it thoroughly weeks ago. Kitten took her compact from her purse and looked at her lipstick. She powdered her nose and stuck the compact back, clamping the purse shut. A nurse in a crisp white uniform padded by on her rubber-heeled shoes.

"It didn't take Mitch long to move," Kitten said.

Marsha sighed. "She had the car."

Dr. Peters shut the door to the waiting room after he came in. He was a tall, thin man with a boyish face and kindly gray eyes behind the black, heavy-rimmed glasses that matched the color of his thick hair. He had on a white coat above the dark blue pants, and in his hand he held a tan bone pipe.

"Which is which?" he said, sitting down on the leather couch beside Kitten. After Marsha made the introductions, he put a match to the tobacco in his pipe and leaned back comfortably. His face was drawn with a serious, wary expression.

"Dean Paterson tells me you two are the only Tri Eps who know the whole story on this."

"That's right," Marsha said, putting the copy of "Look" back on the table and folding her hands on her lap. "We'd like to keep it that way, if it's possible. I guess you understand how girls can talk, and
—"

"I understand. About the Mitchell girl… Does the house know why she was asked to leave?"

Marsha said, "No. We said she was incompatible. That's all. Jane Bell and Casey and Mother Nessy know. They know about Leda too now, but it's terribly embarrassing. Leda was our queen. If it ever got out, we'd be ruined. I don't think Mitch will tell. It'd ruin us."

Dr. Parker blew a puff of smoke up into the air. He took his glasses off and held them loosely in his hand. "And this
—Jake? How does he fit into all of this?"

"Him!" Kitten said. "We don't have to worry about him. He was so blotto he doesn't even remember being at the Den, much less anything else. I don't know whether Leda told him or not, but he sure doesn't remember anything. I had a class with him yesterday. All he's worried about is paying for the car that got wrecked. And Leda too, he
says,
but if you ask me
—"

"Which no one did," Marsha broke in, putting a period to Kitten's opinion.

Ted Peters watched the girls as they talked. He wondered if his generation had been that way, or if it was true that the younger generation had changed, evolved into a careless breed of people who lacked even a remote basis for understanding. He shut his eyes and shuddered inwardly. "Right now," he said, "we've got to worry about Leda Taylor. She's very ill
—in her mind as well as in her body."

"Lord!" Kitten exclaimed. "You'd never think she was one. All those dates and everything."

"Look, girls," Dr. Peters said, "right now I want you to turn into actresses. The best actresses you can be. Leda is conscious now. For the past few days she's been semiconscious and she's got a lot off her mind, talking and crying, saying things she's probably had pent up in her since she was knee-high. But now, as you go in that room, let her be the old Leda Taylor
—act as if she's the Leda you knew before the accident and your talk with Dean Paterson. When you go in to see her, forget all of these recent developments, and talk to her as you would if this had never happened. She has no way of remembering what she said at the wreck, and no way of knowing what's happened since then. "She'll be attempting to live the lie, and you've got to help her live it. Some of her talk may be incoherent. Pass over it. Don't indicate in any way that there's anything different about her. And most important—prepare yourself for a difference."

"We shouldn't mention Susan Mitchell, of course?"

"Not unless she mentions her. She may ask you if Susan was sent home, or what became of her. In that case, you say that she hasn't been sent home
yet.
Say you don't know any more about it
—that Dean Paterson is handling it. You see, the best thing that could happen to Leda would be for her to see Susan. She feels guilty, and she still has emotional ties that are stronger than we can imagine, but she'll have to ask to see the girl herself. Otherwise it won't be effective."

"What about Jake?" Kitten said. "Should we mention him?"

"Certainly! Act the way you would act if you didn't know anything about all of this. Tell her everyone is asking for her at the house. Try to give her some will to get better."

Marsha stood up and came over to Dr. Peters. "We'll do the best we can," she said.

The three of them left the small reception room and walked down the dark corridor where the smells of ether and medicine and disinfectant were more pronounced. There was a screen in the entrance to Room 209, and Kitten and Marsha stopped there and shook hands with Dr. Peters. He smiled briefly and whispered, "Don't forget"

Inside the room the shades were drawn and there was a small light over the bed. The fat, neat-looking nurse left them alone with Leda, who lay still, her head swathed in white gauze bandages. Marsha went ahead of Kitten to the edge of the bed and peered at Leda.

"Hi," she whispered. "How do you feel?"

Leda's face had a yellow cast to it and her lips barely broke in an uneven, crooked grin. "How do I look?" she answered.

Kitten moved up alongside Marsha. She said, "I bet that's the first cotton crown you ever wore."

"Why don't you tell me how I look?" Leda said.

Kitten sat down on the straight-back chair near the bed table. "You had a rough time of it," she said. "I think you look darn well, considering."

Marsha tried to smile enthusiastically. "Everybody's been asking about you at the house," she said.

"So everybody's been asking." Leda half laughed. "Well!"

"Jake's asked, too," Kitten said. "You know, we have math together."

"Car wrecked?"

Kitten stammered, unsure of what to say. Marsha said, "It
is
in bad shape."

"Anyone called Jan?"

"I don't know," Kitten answered. "I don't think anyone at the house did."

"Good. It'd ruin her trip. She's going to L.A., you know. Did you know Jan was going to L.A.? Yeah, she likes it out there. She's a big hit in L.A."

There was a short pause. Kitten fumbled with her purse and found the handkerchief. She touched it to her nose, a gesture to take time and allow her to think of something to say. Marsha leaned on the bed and smoothed her skirt.

"What about Mitch?" Leda said suddenly. "She go home?"

"Not yet" Marsha said. "I guess not yet." Kitten remembered to add, "The Dean's handling it."

"The Dean. What'd she want with
me,
anyway? I don't care, either."

Marsha pretended to scratch her arm up under the sleeve of her sweater. "We'll have to talk about your nomination for Christmas Queen when you get better, Leda."

"And what's the Dean want with Mitch? Poor dumb kid."

There was another short silence.

Leda said, "I'd like to see her. Surprise you? I'd like to see Mitch."

"Maybe you can," Marsha said.

"Surprises you that I'd like to see her, doesn't it?"

Kitten said, "No. I can see why."

"Why?" Leda said.

Kitten's face became tense. "Well, you
—roomed together and—"

Leda laughed very hard. Then she was serious again, her green eyes strangely alert. She brought her hand up and touched her fingers to her mouth, and even in the light and with the gauze and the weakness of her body, she was beautiful. It was in the supple line of her lips, and the way her glance seemed plaintive and lost.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, we roomed together. Roommates! Too bad. If she was still around I thought I could talk to her. Tell her it was too bad."

Kitten tried to blow her nose as though it needed it. "I've got a damn cold," she said, "or my sinus or something."

"Do you know where Mitch is?" Leda asked.

"No," Marsha said. "Maybe the doctor would know."

"God!" Leda turned over on her side. "He doesn't know her from a hole in the wall. Why talk about such dreary subjects anyway? Might as well forget about it. What's going on at the house this week end?"

Kitten started elaborating on who had a date with whom, and what fraternities were giving parties. "You know," she said, "we've got to get together on plans for the Christmas Queen campaign." After she said it, she wondered whom they would elect to take Leda's place. Secretly, she had thought of herself as a logical candidate.

The fat woman in white returned and signaled to them. "Time's up," she said. "You can come again tomorrow."

Marsha and Kitten felt mutual relief as they stood up and bade Leda good-by. "Come back," Leda said. "Come back and see me again. God, I go crazy in this bed!"

"We'll be back," Marsha promised.

Dr. Peters was waiting outside the screen for them. He led them down the hall and listened with interest as they announced that Leda had asked for Susan Mitchell.

"She was funny, though," Kitten said. "Not funny, but strange."

"Almost like she wasn't all there at times," Marsha sighed, "the way she looked away from me when she talked, and how she rambled."

He watched them after they left from the front door and hurried down the walk, talking together excitedly.

It was late that afternoon when he parked his worn Chevrolet coupe in front of Dean Paterson's apartment. She met him at the door and led him into the living room

"You look tired, Ted," she said as he sat down and stretched his long feet before him. "It's pretty depressing, isn't it?"

He knocked the bone pipe on the ash tray and took the small tan pouch from his pocket. "Did you talk to the girls? They were over this morning to see Leda, you know."

Ruth Paterson sat on the hassock beside the couch. "Yes, they stayed in my office for several hours. I wanted to be sure that they understood the situation thoroughly
—that Susan Mitchell would be a perfectly normal girl if it hadn't been for Leda, and that now, with understanding and help from you, she will be normal again."

"And how did they react to her staying in school?"

"It's curious, Ted. You see, their main worry is that Susan will tell the story to someone, thereby ruining the Tri Ep reputation. Susan's welfare seems a smaller concern. Oh, of course, they said they wanted to see her get a decent break, and that they were upset about the whole affair
—but primarily, they worry about how this would affect their sorority."

Dr. Peters put a match to the tobacco in the pipe and sucked on the stem thoughtfully. He shook his head. "You're sort of sticking your neck out, Ruth. I can't tell you how genuinely proud I am of you. It's been my feeling all along that there's no question about the Mitchell girl's normality
—that it could have happened to almost any lonely, helpless, and naive child. But you shouldered the responsibility when you decided to let her stay in school. That takes courage, Ruth—real courage."

Dean Paterson wondered if it did, or if it were more of an act of responsibility than an act of courage. There was no doubt in her mind that the Mitchell girl would be normal again. Doubts like that were too costly for a dean of women. But to defend your own beliefs in the face of other people's doubts did take courage. She was thankful for the kind of man Ted Peters was.

"You know, Ted," she began, "I've always thought my position was more than that of a counselor to girls en masse. I've wanted it to mean more than that
—to mean each girl individually, not only in her academic work and in her extracurricular activities, but in the girl's life as long as we're associated with one another. I think that's part of a college's duty. Otherwise, it seems like an assembly line that turns out a B. A. degree in four years."

"You're right," Dr. Peters agreed. "It's a big job, too. I don't know, Ruth. Today I wondered if all our youth hadn't suddenly turned shallow and callous
—after the girls left the hospital and I watched them walk away laughing and chatting like magpies. I wondered where the dignity of youth was nowadays. Well, at any rate, it looks like Susan will have a chance. Leda is another matter. She wants to see Susan—and that's what I came over about. I'd like to arrange a meeting between the two of them tonight."

"Is that wise, Ted?"

"I've talked to Susan, and I think I know her well enough now to be sure that it'll be very wise in her case. It's cruel to ask her to witness the fallen Leda, and yet, perhaps it's the only way to prove to her once and for all how very sick Leda is and was. The mental sickness is becoming more pronounced than the physical. That wreck didn't really injure Leda. It awoke her. The neuroses that was growing in her subconscious mind suddenly came to grips with the conscious mind at the time of the wreck. The impact of that meeting is what she can't bridge. She knows her two selves now, and she can't assimilate them. It's very serious, Ruth, and I'm counting on her seeing Susan to help."

The phone was on the desk, and Dean Paterson reached for it, hesitating a moment before she remembered the number of the dorm where Susan Mitchell was living.