A Timely Concerto (19 page)

“I won’t,” Lillian said. “Good night, Papa.”

At midnight, she managed to give him the next dose of Keflex but he did not fully rouse. His breathing eased, quieter now and more even but she was too tired to know any more if that was good or bad. In the wolf hour of the night, fear sharpened against the whetstone of her heart and she did her best to banish it, holding onto hope with weary fingers. Too many long hours spent at his bedside took their toll and she struggled to stay awake, eyes leaden, an ache going deep into her eyeballs. Lillian huddled in the rocking chair, cold despite the soft shawl that Papa Speakman wrapped about her shoulders earlier. For now, she was alone with Howard, waiting and watching. He slept, easier than he had in several days but she did not yet know if the antibiotic she administered worked or not.

Her back ached from sitting in the same position and she cuddled deeper into the folds of the shawl seeking warmth. If she was not so tired, she would put a blanket over her knees but Lillian didn’t want to move. Maybe if she shut her eyes just for a moment, she thought, she could summon energy to get up. She let her eyes slip closed and tried to relax, letting the constant anxiety fade for a moment.

She dozed in light, fitful sleep until a sound invaded her consciousness, small but persistent. She woke and blinked with confusion, wondering what it had been until she heard it again, faint and hoarse.

“Dearest Lillian,” Howard said his voice thin and weak. His eyes were open and alert, fixed on her face, clear, not glazed with fever.

Her shawl dropped to the floor as she rose, shifting from the rocker to the edge of the bed. She touched his forehead, then his cheeks with gentle hands. His skin was warm but it wasn’t hot any longer; the fever had broken.

“Howard.” His name was the first word she could form in her relief and joy. “Your fever’s gone. How do you feel?”

His lips twitched in an effort to smile.

“Alive.”

Until then, she thought she might cry with happiness but instead, she laughed, with the smile he was too weak to make. Lillian leaned down to kiss him, first his lips, then both cheeks, and then his forehead. She took his hand and held it. Faint but without doubt, his hand squeezed hers and the tears she had kept in check spilled down her cheeks, a torrent of release of stored tension, fear, and concern. Lillian sobbed aloud with emotional release, letting go of all the stored fear, the worry, and the anxiety.

“Dearest, don’t weep,” Howard said, with effort. “I shall recover and be well.”

“I know.” Lillian said, still bawling.

In the silent house, her howls echoed through closed doors and wafted down the stairs. Doors opened and shut, slammed and reverberated as she heard the sound of hasty feet from several directions. The bedroom door swung open and crashed against the wall with force as his parents burst into the room.

“Daughter, what is it?” Papa Speakman, clad in his heavy wool nightshirt and drawers, his hair spiked in every direction, asked.

“Is Howard gone?” Mama Speakman said, pushing past her husband to enter the room.

“Howard is much better,” Lillian said. “His fever is gone and he’s awake.”

“Thank the dear Lord,” Mama Speakman said, her face shining with joyful wonder. Her husband joined her at the foot of the bed, beaming. They clasped hands and focused on their son while Lillian wept, still clutching his hand.

Maggie rushed through the open door in her nightgown, hair down her back, and cried,

“My dear Lillian, I am so very sorry. I know what it is to lose a husband. It is a cruel blow that breaks your heart.”

Howard made a muffled, choked sound that Lillian realized was laughter.

“Maggie, you may call me Lazarus,” he said, his voice faint but audible.

His cousin gasped, turned pale and stared at him. Lillian, still crying, began to laugh; she could not contain her mirth. Maggie’s discomfort was not that funny but her joy bubbled up into hilarity, her emotions strong and in need of release.

“Oh, Howard, oh, Howard, I cannot believe it,” Maggie found her voice, leaning against the heavy footboard for support. “It is a miracle.”

Shugie came in, tired face beaming with a big grin. She carried a fresh pitcher of water and paused.

“Mister Howard, it is good to see you awake again. Are you doing better?”

“I am,” he replied.

Lillian saw what strength it took to speak and noted the exhaustion in his face. She kissed the palms of his hands and bent down to kiss his lips again.

“You need to rest, Howard,” she said, trying to make her voice stern without success. “Are you thirsty? Let me help you drink and then you need to rest.”

He drank from the cup she held and lay back, drained.

“So do you,” he managed.

“She does indeed,” Mama Speakman said. “Your wife has worn herself out nursing you but I am glad that she did. She never gave up hope, Howard. Lillian, dear, please, go get some sleep. I can sit with Howard.”

“And I will stay as well,” Maggie said, coming around the bed to put her arm across Lillian’s shoulders. “Come with me and I’ll see you settled.”

She would go but not until she kissed him again, her lips butterfly light over his.

“I love you,” Lillian said. “And I’ll be back in the morning.”

His voice was faint but she heard him say,

“I love you too, dear heart.”

Then, having earned her rest, she let Maggie lead her out of the sickroom and to rest. In the morning, she would be back with the next dose of Keflex but she could sleep now, secure that the crisis had passed. Howard survived and he would live.

By the time Dr. Lamson arrived next morning, Lillian was back at Howard’s side. Although he had heard the happy news, the doctor’s face still crinkled with smile lines after he verified that it was true, Howard was out of danger. After a thorough check-up that included listening to Howard’s chest with a stethoscope unlike any she had ever seen, more like an ear trumpet than the instrument she knew, Dr. Lamson spoke.

“You are a marvel, Howard. Your condition has improved in a very dramatic fashion. I will be honest and tell you that I thought you might succumb but you have rallied. You must not hurry your convalescence, however. It will take time to regain your strength.”

Howard nodded.

“I understand.”

Lillian waited until the doctor had gathered his bag and departed, whistling a cheerful tune as he descended the front stairs and then kissed Howard.

“Promise me you will not try to rush recovery,” she said. He looked much better but he was still paler than normal. Dark smudges beneath both eyes remained from his battle with his illness and he was very weak. “I couldn’t bear it if you had a relapse.”

“Neither could I, dear Lillian,” Howard said, his voice thin and dry as a fallen autumn leaf. “I doubt I could survive another round of pneumonia. You saved me, you know.”

Tears jammed her throat like flotsam in a floodtide river.

“I do know,” Lillian said, around the jam. “Everyone else gave you up as dead except me – and Shugie. You have to keep taking the Keflex until it runs out.”

“I shall, dearest. I will do whatever you ask of me. You are my love and my life, Lillian.”

Too moved to speak, she leaned forward and with great care, laid her head against his chest, just long enough to listen to the steady beat of his heart and to hide her tears. When she had blinked them away, she rose up with a smile.

“Are you thirsty?”

“Yes and I am quite hungry.”

He drank a cup of water and managed a few spoons of the beef broth Shugie delivered. He asked for some terrible looking substance Miss Julia brought called calf’s foot jelly. Lillian frowned at it, poked it with a spoon, and decided it was some strange homemade gelatin. If it tasted as nasty as it looked, she didn’t want him to eat any.

“You don’t want that,” Lillian said. “I’ll have Shugie make some nice Jello instead. It will look more appetizing and taste better.”

He laughed, which made him cough just a bit.

“Howard, you need to rest,” she said. “If you will sleep, I promise to stay here. If you won’t, I will send for Maggie or Miss Julia or any of the dozens of people who have been waiting downstairs.”

He inclined his head in a brief nod.

“Your blackmail is a success, darling. I will sleep.”

He slept more than he did anything else over the next few days and as his appetite improved, Lillian allowed him to move from broths to simple soups. Shugie made the Jello she requested and Howard ate it, although he complained that the fruit flavors were not quite genuine. By the time that the last of the Keflex was gone, he had graduated from sitting up in bed to spending time in his Morris chair. Shugie’s Jim hauled it upstairs so that Howard could enjoy its comfort during his convalescence. Lillian had him place it near the large front window so that Howard could see outside and so that the sunshine could slant in through the glass on him.

Howard looked much more like himself when he was up, seated in his Morris chair. On a day in late February, Lillian stood behind him, combing his hair, and savoring the solid, alive reality of him under her hands.

“Your hair is getting long. You need a haircut,” she said, admiring his thick hair.

“I imagine that I do.” Howard replied.

Within her belly, the baby kicked with enough force to make her dress bounce outward and she giggled. She moved to stand in front of Howard and put his hand over her expanded abdomen.

“He’s kicking,” she said, pleased. “Feel how strong he is, Howard.”

He laughed.

“He must be feisty, darling. How long will it be until the baby is born?”

Lillian still could do no more than guess and Dr. Lamson was unable to do more than estimate.

“I think it may be late March or early April,” she told him. “That’s just a month or a little more.”

He circled her wide waist with one arm and pulled her closer.

“I should be close to recovered by then, I hope. All everyone does is fret and fuss over me but are you well, Lillian?”

“I am grand,” she replied. “I feel huge and clumsy as I don’t know what but I feel good.”

He laid his head against her for a moment and then he sighed.

“Darling, I must get up and visit the water closet.”

His use of what was to her an outdated term for the bathroom was endearing; she found it cute.

She offered a hand to help him out of the chair but he walked on his own the few feet to the adjacent bathroom. He had been walking within the bedroom for several days and his gait, at first halting and unsteady, had improved until it was slow but nearly normal.

“Would you like to like to lie down for awhile?”

“No, thank you but I would not,” Howard said, his lips shifting into a grin as he sank back into the chair. “I am tired, darling, but I prefer to sit up a bit longer. I really should think about seeing some of the people who have been so faithful and concerned.”

She still wanted him all to herself, greedy for his company and glad of his recovery. So far, he had seen no one except the doctor, his parents, his cousin, Shugie, and his farm manager.
In the early days of his convalescence, Dr. Lamson advised against much company, fearing that Howard could succumb to any new virus or illness that someone might transmit to him unaware.

“Dr. Lamson doesn’t think it wise,” Lillian said. “Wait a little more, Howard. You are doing very well so please don’t jeopardize it.”

He nodded. “Very well, Lillian. I shall wait but I would like to dress tomorrow. I feel like such a shiftless person lounging about in my nightshirt. “

Lillian laughed. “You were very ill and you are still recovering. No one will think you are lazy, Howard.”

“I should hope not.” He looked down at his hands and splayed them open, studying them. “My hands look like those of a lady since I haven’t been working at the farm. I must earn back my calluses and blisters.”

“You will,” Lillian laughed.

Her belly tightened without warning, cinched up and squeezed. That was new, something she had not experienced and she might have brushed it away, but it happened again, two more times. This was different from the baby kicking and she wondered, with more than a little alarm, if it could be labor.

“Lillian?” Howard asked, his smile fading. Her expression had betrayed her. “What is wrong?”

She pasted on a faux smile. “Nothing.”

He didn’t believe her. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know. I just had a funny feeling, not a cramp or a contraction but a strange tight feeling across my belly,” she confessed. “It hasn’t happened before.”

His worry lines etched across his forehead. “We must call Dr. Lamson. You might be in labor, dear heart.”

“It doesn’t hurt so I don’t know,” Lillian said. “I don’t think I am.”

She didn’t know, though, and she was as worried as Howard so she let Maggie run for the doctor who arrived with speed. She noticed, glancing down, that her belly had shifted, dropped lower, which frightened her more. The same odd little constriction squeezed twice more before Dr. Lamson arrived so Lillian was glad when he came into the bedroom. After feeling her abdomen and asking some questions, he pronounced her fine and explained that she experienced Braxton-Hicks contractions, not labor.

“John Braxton Hicks first pinpointed these false contractions back in the 1870’s, hence the name,” Dr. Lamson told them. “Most doctors believe that it is no more than the woman’s body practicing for labor. It isn’t dangerous at all and it doesn’t hurt, does it, Mrs. Speakman?”

“No, it’s uncomfortable but there isn’t any pain.”

“Very well, then. Once you do go into labor, you will understand the difference.”

“What about the fact that my belly seems lower than it was?” Lillian asked.

Dr. Lamson smiled, a thin, tight expression that had little patience for first time expectant mothers.

“The child shifts when the birth draws closer. That is what has happened here.”

The contractions, no matter what the name, scared Lillian more than she would admit and she sensed that they worried Howard but she said no more about them. She had to trust Dr. Lamson on this one and she didn’t want to stress her husband.

Dressing for the first time since his illness cheered him and if any anxiety about her condition remained, he hid it well. His denim pants were loose about the waist but the blue and white plaid shirt almost fit. He buttoned the shirt and managed to get his suspenders in place so that the jeans would not droop or fall to the floor.

“What do you think, dearest?” he asked. “It is surely an improvement over long handles and nightshirts.”

Howard looked fine and Lillian smiled.

“You look dapper, quite the gent,” she said, reaching out to straighten his mussed collar. “You are a bit thinner, though.”

He chuckled. “Thank you. Do you know, Lillian, you are beginning to sound at times like you are born to this era? It’s rather charming.”

“Do I?” She had not noticed but if so, it was fine. This was where – and when – she would live her life. “Do you feel like going downstairs? I know Mama and Papa would be happy to see you dressed.”

He nodded. “I would like that very much.”

Getting there was a slow process. Howard wanted to go to the rear parlor so he could play the piano so Lillian suggested he use the back staircase. He inched along the wide upstairs hall, and paused to rest at the top of the stairs, winded.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

After a few moments, he descended the steps, one at a time, and surprised Shugie in the kitchen. She was so delighted that she threw her arms around him and hugged him, flour covered apron and all.

“It’s good to see you up and dressed, Mister Howard,” she cried. “You’re looking fine.”

“Thank you, Shugie.”

“Can I fix you anything? I would be happy to do whatever I can.”

Howard exchanged glances with Lillian.

“Tea would be nice, Shugie, in the second parlor.”

They paused at the rear of the parlor so he could greet his parents who smiled and made over him as if he were about ten years old. The Speakmans were good to give them space, Lillian thought, with a rush of affection for them. When they could have smothered and probably wanted to, they did not.

Howard sat down at the piano with a smile and gave the keys a tentative tinkle. He winced as a few discordant notes plinked into the morning quiet.

“I have either lost my touch or the piano needs tuning,” he said, rippling the keys and launching into a Scott Joplin number. Lillian beamed to see him there, sunlight from the window shimmering on his hair, longer than usual, face calm with contentment as he made music.

“It must be the piano. Your music sounds beautiful.”

The uplifting, bright notes of the ragtime piece raised her spirits and she moved to stand behind him, hands on his shoulders, leaning down from time to time to kiss or caress him.

“Miss Lillian, you already got in the family way doing that,” Shugie said, giggling as she brought the tea in on a tray. “You’ll be having that baby any day and here you are, acting like a young girl in love.”

“I am in love,” Lillian said, snuggling her face against the top of Howard’s hair.

“Uh-huh,” Shugie said. “Tell me that when you go into labor. You won’t be so sassy, then.”

She felt too good to worry about childbed now so she laughed and danced a few steps to the music. Something pulled in her back, and then shifted in her lower belly. Caught up in her dance steps, Lillian thought nothing about it until she felt a stitch in her side that hurt enough that she stopped. As if disturbed by her inner rumblings, the baby kicked three times, hard, in succession, enough that it hurt.

“Hey, baby, go easy,” Lillian said, laughing.

“What is it?” Howard’s hands froze on the ivory keys.

“The baby’s kicking.”

Within, she heard a faint sound even as she felt it, a popping that felt funny. Before she could say anything, she felt a moment’s pressure as if she had to urinate and then a gush of water cascaded down inside her skirts to splash on the floor. Her undergarments were soaked and her skirts wet.

“Howard.” Her voice sounded very small and afraid.

He continued to play, shifting from the ragtime into Debussy, one of the three Nocturnes but she wasn’t sure which one. He must not hear the water dripping from her clothing, Lillian thought, but Shugie tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mister Howard, you’d best turn around here. It’s a good thing you’re up and around because Miss Lillian is about to take to bed.”