The Healing Quilt (10 page)

His “well, urn…” did nothing to stop her.

“I believe it more than a shame, actually a crime against the women of our county, to learn of the lack of adequate diagnostic equipment here at our own hospital through an article in the local paper. But thank God for a reporter who dug out these appalling statistics.” She picked up a sheaf of papers. “I've made copies for all of you so that we will all be singing from the same page,” she said, quoting a line Jefferson had used in nearly every meeting of the board. She passed papers in both directions and glanced around the table, unable to catch anyone's eye. Being that they were all men, she was not surprised. She laid her copy of the article on the table.

“Now I know I could start a really provocative discussion here if I happened to mention that if new diagnostic equipment were needed for prostate problems, we'd have it in a flash. Since I hesitate to use such inflammatory practices, however.

Someone groaned and a dry chuckle or two broke the silence.

“I shall just say that we will get to the bottom of this, knowing that you gentlemen want the best for our female patients as well as the male. Therefore, I move that we form a committee to look into these allegations and determine what we can do in the near future to rectify the situation.” She tapped a two-inch thick file. “I have here an abundance of research materials for those committee members to read. Since this is a project rather near and dear to my heart”—again snorts and chuckles, albeit with slightly guilty expressions—“I volunteer to head up this committee and ask for volunteers.”

When no hands went up, she cocked her head and let an eyebrow raise. “What, no takers?”

“You know there is no money in the budget for new equipment.” The hiss came from her right.

“We're not asking for money but a research committee.”
When we need the money, I know where it will come from.
But keeping her expression bland, she continued to look around the table.

“Now then, surely one or two of you could volunteer so this is all done decently and in order.” Jefferson paused. “Although I believe there is a motion on the floor. Is there a second?” He waited.

“I second and I'll volunteer to assist in the research,” the owner of the larger pharmacy in town added.

Elaine knew the man's wife had found a lump herself and recovered quickly from a lumpectomy. She was one of the lucky ones.

“Any discussion?” Jefferson waited, but the fingers on his right hand took up a drill of their own on the edge of the desk. “No, then— Yes, what is it, Harold?”

“This doesn't commit us to any financial outlay does it?” an older man from the end of the table asked.

“No, none. Anything else? Good, then all in favor say aye. Any opposed?”

Elaine glanced around the table, virtually daring any to disagree.

“The motion passes. If there is anyone else who would like to serve on this committee, please talk with Mrs. Giovanni after the meeting.”

“Thank you.” Elaine took her seat and clicked off the small tape recorder she had in her jacket pocket. She sat through the remainder of the meeting, enjoying her lunch and refusing to meet the glowering looks Jefferson sent her way.
Too bad, sonny, you've taken on the wrong group of peopk. When women get stirred up, look out. And you can bet your manicure, we'll be stirred up. Really stirred up.

At one point she stopped, as did the others, at the wail of one ambulance followed by another.

A call came over the PA system. “Dr. Giovanni, to OR 2, stat.”

Elaine turned in time to see her husband push back his chair and stride from the room without a backward glance.

Might as well not cook the pork chops
, Elaine thought.
If it is a bad one, he could be tied up a long time.

“Beth, I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, what is it?” Beth looked up from stitching on the quilt block stretched on a hoop in her lap, her smile warm and open.

Garth pulled up a chair and sat facing her. “First of all, I want you to know how proud I am of the effort you are making to overcome the depression.” He laid a hand on her knee. “Do you know how long it has been since I saw you quilting like this?”

Too hng, 1 know.
“Thank you.” She wove her needle into the fabric and clasped her hands over his. “What is it you need?”

“I know you don t like to help with the pro-life booth, but we really need another warm body at the festival tomorrow. Two people have backed out, or else I wouldn't ask.”

Although she tried to focus on her husband's face, Beth could feel herself withdrawing. “Garth, you know I've told you I cannot do that.”

“I know, but I don't know why, and it isn't as if you would be calling on an abortion clinic or something. Just handing out leaflets. I know you believe in our cause.”

“Of course, that's not the issue here.” She leaned back in her chair, seeking to put as much space between them as possible, clamping her arms over her chest, locking her elbows with her shaking hands.
I can't do this, Garth, can't you understand? I can't.
All the while her thoughts raged, she kept shaking her head.

“Beth, I'm just asking you to smile and hand out leaflets. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Garth rose to his feet and started pacing. “This makes no sense to me.” He turned and glared at her. “None at all.”

“You agreed you would never ask me to do this. You agreed, Garth, and now you are going back on your word.” She bit her lip until she tasted the salt of blood, all the while willing, commanding herself not to cry. In spite of her every effort, the tears leaked out. She stood, laid her quilting hoop down in the chair, and headed down the hall to the bathroom where she could lock the door.

Stripping off her clothes, she turned on the shower and stepped under the pounding water, keeping it as hot as she could stand. Anything to drive out the dark, the dirt, the despair. She heard Garth knock on the door and call her name, but she raised her face to the water, unable to answer.

God, all these years I thought I was all right, but now… Whan happening? I can't keep going this way. Is there no relief?
She slumped against the wall, sobbing until the water ran cold. Shivering, she stepped out onto the mat. With one towel wrapped around her head and another knotted over her chest, she opened the door and crept to their bedroom. The silence in the house roared in her ears.

Until this evening she'd been looking forward to the celebration, finally feeling somewhat better, and now—now how could she even attend?

And Garth was angry with her. Of course he was; why wouldn't he be? He'd put up with so much, and now she had let him down again. She pulled her robe off the hook in the closet and shrugged into it, then dried her hair with the towel. After pulling the brush through her still-damp curls, she looked out the window to see if Garth was working in the garden. Digging in the earth seemed to calm him just as placing perfect stitches in a quilt soothed her. Or maybe it just gave her too much time to think.

So whan the big deal about handing out leaflets? Just act as ifyoure handing out information on composting Come on, youre a big girl. Surely Garth isn't asking anything more than you can handle. Go out there and tell him you'll do it.
The thoughts bombarded her like small birds dive-bombing a marauding crow.

A cup of hot tea, that will help.
She made her way to the kitchen and, after pouring water into the teakettle, set it to boil. Since the back door was open, she could hear children shrieking in play in the backyard next door. She braced her arms on the edge of the counter, locking her elbows to hold herself up.

I'll do it. I can't. I'll do it. I can't.
The words sped through her mind like a cyclone. With the shriek of a trapped animal, she clamped her hands over her ears and burst into sobs. Slowly she slid to the floor, cowering against the cabinet. “I can't, I can't, I can't.” Her head pounded in tempo with the words.

“Beth, darling, Beth.” Garth jerked the shrieking and spluttering teakettle off the burner and knelt to gather her into his arms. “You don't have to help me, Beth. I'm so sorry. I just thought…” He stroked her hair back and cupped her face in his hands. “Please, Bethy, don't cry anymore. Please. Please.”

She could hear his voice as if he stood at the other end of a football field. She could feel his hands, gentle on her face and shoulders, but it was as if he burned her with every touch.

“Can I make you a cup of tea?”

She shook her head. “I just want to go to bed. My head, I have such a headache.” Her stomach roiled and she staggered to her feet, ricocheting off the walls as she headed again for the bathroom, barely making it in time to heave her dinner into the commode. When she felt Garth's strong arms lock around her middle, she leaned into his strength, having none of her own. He ran water in the sink and dipped a washcloth to wipe her face, then half led, half carried her into the bedroom. Pulling back the covers, he laid her on the sheet.

“Can I get you some aspirin or something?” He knelt by the bedside.

“Please, my prescription in the medicine cabinet.” She forced the request past her raw and burning throat. “And pull the drapes.” The whisper sounded like a scream to ears sensitized by the throbbing pain in her head.

Garth brought her the pills and a glass of water, helping to brace her so she could drink. When she lay back down, eyes closed, he pulled the drapes and started to leave. “I'll be out in the backyard if you need me.”

Nodding took more effort than she could summon. She pulled the burgundy star-burst quilt her grandmother had made for their wedding up around her shoulders, curling into its comfort.

“Beth, Beth—wake up, you were screaming again.” Garth shook her, dragging her back from the precipice.

She turned into his chest and clung as though he were the only stability on earth. When she could speak without choking, she sucked in a deep breath and let herself go limp on the exhale.

“Thank you.”

He rubbed her back, making murmuring noises and kissing away her tears. “Was it a bad dream?”

“I… I don't remember, but I must have been terrified. My heart is still pounding.” She laid her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest, burrowing as close as she could. “You are nice and warm. It was cold, so cold.”

“You're safe, honey, but I think you need to get help. I can count every rib and vertebra. How much weight have you lost?”

“I don't know.”
Because I'm afraid to get on the scale. Like I'm afraid of most everything. I didnt used to be so afraid.

“Are you reading your Bible every day?”

“Most of the time.”
Sure, it says “be not afraid, “and I'm a cowering idiot. I'm not strong in the Lord. He is casting me out.

“Did you read the list of verses I gave you?” He stroked her hair with one hand.

“Yes.”
But all they made me do was cry. Garth, God, whoever is Us-tening, I am so tired of crying, of this land of gray nothing where I wander.
She drifted off to sleep, clinging like a limpet to a rock to withstand the pounding surf.