A Timely Concerto (18 page)

Shugie snorted. “Howard’s mamma and daddy went to bed but most of the rest are still downstairs. Some are asleep, sitting up but Miss Julia’s wide-awake. That woman is about to drive me crazy, wanting to cook things in my kitchen and passing out food as if it was her house. How’s he doing?”

Lillian sighed and ran one hand over her weary face.

“I don’t know, about the same, I think. He talks but most of it doesn’t make any sense.”

She dug the Keflex from her pocket, spilled a capsule out into her hand, and tried to rouse him. Howard resisted more this time than earlier but she persevered and after several minutes, he blinked open bleary eyes and turned them toward her.

“Lillian?” His voice was a rasp,

“I’m right here, Howard. Can you take the Keflex again for me? I can help you sit up a little bit.”

He moved his head, an attempt at a nod, she thought and she lifted up him as much as she could with Shugie’s help. Lillian placed the pill in his mouth, then put the cup to his lips.

“Swallow now, sweetheart.”

He managed it and with relief, she eased him back against the bank of pillows. He still radiated fever heat but she thought it might be a fraction less. That might be only because she removed his heavy garments but if it was down, it was just slight improvement. His breathing was rough and he struggled to breathe unless she kept him propped in almost an upright sitting position. When she leaned close, her ears picked up crackling inside his chest, an unnerving sound. There wasn’t much else she could do except keep up the antibiotic.

“Remind me again at eight o’clock, Shugie,” Lillian said. “If I can keep giving him the medication, it should work.”

“I will but they coming back up before then,” Shugie said. “I listen to them even when they think I don’t hear. Miss Julia’s going to send for Dr. Lamson even though Mr. Speakman don’t want the doctor here. I think she’ll do that soon as it’s daylight. She thinks you ought to get some rest, too, in your delicate condition.”

Lillian bit her lip. Although she wasn’t well versed in what kind of quackery passed for modern medicine in 1905, she didn’t know how much the doctor could help. That operation Howard described that killed him rather than cured made her shudder and she determined nothing like that would happen now. She was tired, so weary that she dozed more than once while sitting up with Howard but she didn’t want to leave him in the clutches of Miss Julia.

“If you can keep them away till after eight o’clock and the next pill, I’ll try to sleep,” Lillian said with careful deliberation. “I don’t know how I’ll manage the next dose at noon but I will.”

“I’ll do it,” Shugie said, with a wide grin. “I’ll just tell them it’s aspirin and they’ll believe me.”

They might even though the large Keflex capsules looked nothing like the small white Bayer tablets. It would be worth the attempt, Lillian thought. She grinned back.

“Thank you. Between us, we’ll make him well again.”

She managed the eight o’clock dose just in time. Minutes later, Mama Speakman and Miss Julia came in together. Mama looked as frazzled as Lillian felt but Miss Julia looked both crisp and cheerful. Maggie trailed them, dour.

“How is Howard?” Mama asked.

“He’s holding his own,” Lillian said, because it was true. “I think his temperature might be down just a little. I have been giving him the honey and lemon often and he doesn’t cough quite as much. He breathes easier if he’s kept propped up like this, too.”

Maggie joined Lillian at the bedside and scrutinized her cousin.

“He looks awful,” she said. “Is he still delirious?”

Lillian resisted the urge to slap Maggie across both cheeks and with more patience than she thought she had, said,

“He sometimes talks out of turn, yes, but he has some lucid moments too. He’s very ill so he doesn’t look well but he will recover.”

She believed it – had to believe it because she couldn’t bear anything else. Part of their mysterious, magical love story was that this time Howard would live.

“I declare he looks better than he did last night,” Miss Julia said from the foot of the bed. “I feared that we were about to lose him then.”

Mama Speakman lifted a handkerchief to her face and moaned.

“He must live. We would be lost without our precious boy.”

Their cacophony of voices filtered through his fevered fog and Howard stirred, blinking his eyes and coughing with force. Lillian got up, legs stiff, and slipped one arm behind him. She took his right hand in hers with the other.

“Easy. Go easy, Howard, sweetheart,” she crooned.

He coughed again and she could hear the rattle in his chest. It sounded terrible and through his nightshirt, his fever heat seared her hand. If his fever had been down, it was climbing again. He moved his lips as if he would speak but made no sound but she gave him a spoon of the honey lemon concoction and positioned him back against the pillows. He shuddered again with another coughing bout and spit crud into the handkerchief she put before his mouth. Thick, vicious yellowish-green slime streaked with blood filled the linen cloth and she thought she might gag. A foul smell rose from it, sickening her tender stomach as the aroma reached her nose. She steeled herself not to vomit but allowed the women to usher her out of the room.

They sent her to rest like a tired child but she didn’t fight them. Her body needed sleep and the child within kicked hard, reminding her that she needed sustenance too. Lillian started down the back stairs but met Shugie, armed with a tray coming up. She ate the eggs, bacon, and toast with more gusto than she expected, drank the milk, and then lay down on the bed in the rear bedroom to sleep.

When she woke, the sun streamed in at an angle and illuminated the wallpaper, patterned with huge pink roses on big green vines. Disoriented for a moment, she shook her head to clear it and then remembered Howard was ill.

He needed her; nothing else mattered so she returned to the sick room.

The room was full. Maggie, Howard’s parents, Miss Julia, and Albert ringed the bed but beyond them, half a dozen others stood. When she pushed open the door, no one spoke but they turned in unison to look at her, eyes somber. Something smelled in the fetid, stuffy room but she couldn’t recognize the stench. Lillian searched the room for Shugie but she was not present.

With her hair tumbling uncombed, her dress dirty, and the unwashed odor of the past few days emanating from her, Lillian moved through the press without a word and reached the bed. Howard gasped for breath and the wheeze in his chest was audible. When she reached the bedside, she saw that someone had put him in a prone position and when she reached him, she maneuvered him back almost upright. Without comment, she fixed the pillows so that they supported Howard and his breathing eased, some.

“Lillian, Dr. Lamson said it was not good for Howard to be in that position,” Maggie said, from the rocking chair beside the bed, more than a little condescending. “He wants him to lie flat so he can rest.”

“If he lies flat, he might drown in his own lung fluids and mucous,” Lillian sniped back. “He’s breathing better already.”

No one spoke but they stared and in their eyes, Lillian read what they believed to be true – Howard was dying. That sad knowledge lurked in each face, concealed in the shadows and lines. The first hints of grief curled around tight mouths and the compassionate condolences prowled their hearts as they searched for the right words to speak when the time came. If she not been pregnant and near to term, they would be blunt about it, open about the reality they saw but they shielded her, the young soon-to-be-widow in the delicate condition.

Hope was extinct in this hot, fetid room where no air moved and where the anxious onlookers devoured the oxygen that Howard needed. They had surrendered, all of them, after such a short battle and even as her heart burned with resentment, stronger than bitter coffee, Lillian understood, if only a little. Most people who fell ill with pneumonia did die and they did not have the advantage that she brought back with her. Without the precious Keflex, administered in secret, Howard might very well die, just as he did before. As her gaze moved over each one of them, they saw her recognition and bowed their heads, as if told to do so. They waited, expecting tears or perhaps rage but she would give them neither.

“I want to be alone with my husband now,” Lillian said. “I want to spend a few precious hours with him and I would like to freshen up, here in the privacy of my own bedroom. Would you be so kind as to leave us? If you care to wait downstairs, I will call you if a change comes or if I need you.”

Despite her scraggly appearance, she felt ten feet tall and power mad as she spoke. She watched her words sink into their consciousness, saw each one think that she understood, and nod, respecting her decision. One by one, they trailed out of the room, some offering a kind word or two until only Howard’s parents and Maggie remained.

“Child, would you like us to stay with you?” Papa Speakman asked, his eyes as shattered as broken glass on pavement, face drawn taut.

“Thank you but I would rather be alone for awhile,” Lillian said. “I am his wife.”

That was her trump card, her justification and her father-in-law nodded. He kissed her on the forehead and left with one last, long look at his son. Mama hugged her, tears wet on her face, and Maggie lingered, her eyes fixed on the still, pale figure in bed.

“Lillian, if you will permit me to join you, I shall be able to offer what comfort I can,” Maggie said, her voice somber as an overcast November sky.

Lillian shook her head.

“I may need you later,” she said. “Would you do a favor for me, Maggie?”

“I will do anything you ask.”

“Is Shugie still here?”

“Yes, she is,” Maggie said.

“Ask her to please bring me some hot tea and something light to eat,” Lillian said.

Maggie hesitated and then nodded.

“I shall, then, dear Lillian. If you need me, I will be near.”

As soon as she was alone, Lillian raised the window a scant two inches to let fresh air into the room and to banish the foul smells. Fresh air might help Howard breathe easier, she thought; the close room choked her and she was healthy. He looked awful, even to her, and she understood why everyone else gave up but she would not. When she returned to the bedside, she laid her hand across his forehead, still too hot.

“Oh, Howard,” Lillian sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. “You won’t die this time; I promise.”

Shugie, looking as frazzled as Lillian did, came in on tiptoe.

“Girl, you ran them out again,” she said, with approval lighting the tired corners of her face. “They all downstairs griping about you and feeling sorry for you, the ones that ain’t crying their eyes out.”

“They gave up.”

“Yes, they did but he’s going to come around. I feel it in my bones.”

Lillian smiled. “Did you give him his pill at noon?”

“I did,” Shugie said. “It’s time again, past four in the afternoon.”

He was more difficult to rouse this time but Lillian persisted until he was half-eyed and semi-responsive. He swallowed the pill but she worried that it might become stuck in this throat so she massaged her fingers along it with gentle motions to ensure that it went down and gave him water. He drank more than before, a good sign, and as she tucked the blankets back, she tried to gauge his fever. His skin remained dry hot and she fretted about that but still hoped that the Keflex would work.

Shugie took up her post beside him while Lillian cleaned up, washing as much as she dared without taking a full bath, before changing clothes. At dusk, she put on one of her warm, full-length flannel nightgowns and a wrapper, then stuck her feet into slippers. Then she nibbled at the cheese and bread Shugie brought on a tray.

“What else did the doctor do or say?” Lillian asked.

Shugie thought. “He put some mustard plaster on his chest but it didn’t do much good, just stunk up the place. He said maybe we could try a salt bag later but no one did. “

That mustard plaster must be responsible for the odd smell.

“What’s a salt bag?”

“You fill up a cloth bag with salt, heat it and put in on the chest,” Shugie said. “I’ve seen it work but then I’ve seen folks do a hot onion poultice too. The onions bring up the stuff from the lungs.”

“Maybe we should do one,” Lillian said, musing about the possibility.

They settled into tandem chairs, one on each side of the bed and waited. At four-hour intervals, she gave Howard 250 milligrams of Keflex although so far, she saw little effect. Lillian also administered aspirin and soothed his cough with the honey lemon mixture. He burned with fever, seldom acted lucid or fully aware but she believed he knew she was there, at his side.

Every few hours, someone pecked at the door but Lillian refused admittance to anyone except Mama and Papa Speakman or Maggie. Their desperate grief irked her, though, and she could not stand them to stay more than a few minutes. Such despair could be contagious and she held onto hope. Through the long night, she and Shugie kept vigil, sometimes dozing, always with quiet resolve.

Early in the morning, Dr. Lamson came and Lillian let him in. He fussed about Howard’s semi-upright position. However, when he checked his vital signs, his grim demeanor lightened a fraction.

“His pulse is steadier,” he said, unable to keep surprise out of his voice. “It is still somewhat weak but it has regulated. He is not sinking as fast as I feared but the prognosis remains poor. You must understand that, Mrs. Speakman.”

“I do,” Lillian said. “But I have every hope that my husband will recover.”

Pity softened his features and she almost hated him for it but he had no idea about the drugs that would one day defeat pneumonia so she could not, quite.. Dr. Lamson ignored her statement.

“You should rest, in your condition. You will need your full strength later. It certainly won’t help anyone should you fall into early labor. They tell me downstairs that you won’t allow anyone else to sit with Howard. Why?”

“There were too many people here,” Lillian told him. “This room was crowded and they agitated Howard. “

“You must not nurse him around the clock yourself.” The doctor advised.

He railed at her, using her condition as a weapon, until she conceded to allow family members, Mama, Papa, or Maggie, to be with Howard when she rested but no one else. After the eight o’clock dosage, she retired to the back bedroom and slept until noon. Shugie, who had not left the house since Howard fell ill, slept somewhere else.

Downstairs, many people remained, waiting to hear how Howard fared. Outside, some of the hands and more than a few of the pickers still stood in the cold waiting for news. When Lillian learned they were there, she insisted that they come inside to wait because Howard would want that. She ventured downstairs once but the well-meaning whispers and the compassionate stares were too much to bear so she retreated upstairs.

Four hours or less of rest, then more time at Howard’s side became the pattern of her days. Sometimes she sat alone, often with Shugie, and on a few occasions, Maggie joined her. Lillian dosed him with Keflex at regular intervals and gave him aspirin to bring down the fever. She coaxed him to drink water through his fever dry, cracked lips and although everyone else would have protested, she gave him spoons of soup when she could. Starving a fever was still the right thing to do but she didn’t want Howard to suffer malnutrition or starvation along with pneumonia. Shugie shaved him, removing the stubble that grew on his face and he looked more like Howard but too pale.

Time blended days and hours together until it was hard to remember how many days he had been sick or what day it was. The days were so much the same that later they would be a confused blur but on the third morning after she first gave him Keflex, she detected a slight change. His fever seemed less but without a thermometer, it was hard to determine. She thought he rested easier and for longer periods. His moments of delirium were fewer and the episodes less wild. Although he talked out of turn, he did not cry out for her in a loud voice or shout strange things that made no sense to her.

With Shugie’s help and Maggie’s approval, they tried the salt bag treatment. It was non-evasive enough that it couldn’t hurt and Lillian thought it might help expel some of the nasty crud from Howard’s lungs. He coughed up some of the worst crud she had ever seen, thick mucus in lurid shades of yellow and green streaked with blood. After application of the warm salt bag, he sat up and coughed with such force she feared he might injure himself but he expelled a stream of the stuff. Maggie contained it in a washbowl and carried it away.

Afterward, he lay still for so long that Lillian worried but he seemed no worse. She continued the aspirin and antibiotic regimen but by the third night since she began it, she began to wonder if it would ever work. She racked her brain to remember how long it would take antibiotics to kick in but she failed. Shugie kept vigil with her at first but the demands of her job increased and she went back to the kitchen. On one of her forays upstairs to bring Lillian both sustenance and support, she confided in Lillian that to the family downstairs, all hope was gone.

“They have been planning his funeral,” Shugie told her. “Dr. Lamson told them that he can’t last much longer so they are getting things ready. Maggie has me baking cakes for the funeral dinner and they got the telegrams ready to send to bring family here to pay their last respects. Howard’s Mama is just beside herself with grief and can’t quit crying. His daddy don’t say much but he’s hurting, too. “

“I can’t believe they’re doing that,” Lillian said, her turbulent emotions in conflict. She was outraged that they would bury him before he was dead and yet sad for them, knowing that their hearts were heavy with the burden of grief. “Do you think he looks better?”

Shugie put her hands on her hips and leaned closer, studying him.

“I think he does. Is that fever down any?”

“I think so; it’s hard to tell,” Lillian said. “When he was sick, before, and died, it was after fifty-three days, Shugie. I can’t believe they are so ready to bury him after just three.”

“Most people don’t last long when they’re this sick. I have to go back downstairs or they’ll come looking for me. You take care, now, Lillian.”

Shugie rested one work worn hand on her shoulder and then left. Alone with Howard, Lillian caressed his face and put her hand over his forehead. It was hot beneath her fingers but she thought that the heat was less intense but that could be more wish than reality. Papa Speakman looked in on his way to bed, pausing to ask how his son fared.

“I think he may be a little better,” Lillian said, with complete conviction.

Papa shook his head, picked up a shawl from another chair, and put it across her shoulders. He gazed at his son with sad eyes and she thought she saw a stray tear flow down his cheek. Like Shugie, he patted her shoulder but his touch oozed kindness born from pity.

“Good night, daughter,” he said. “Should you need us, do not hesitate to awaken us.”