Cast a Road Before Me (22 page)

Ambulance
.

A tap inside my body turned on, and I pushed from the ground, running through shadowed backyards. When a picket fence emerged before me, I veered back toward the street, jumping off the curb in time to see an ambulance from Albertsville Memorial ease around the fire trucks. Its wail died away like that of a fallen animal. Ignoring the torrid heat, I raced up the street, darting around stricken onlookers and the mania of volunteer firemen. From the corner of my eye I saw Uncle Frank, face shiny from blaze and sweat, feet firmly planted as he gripped a shooting hose with two other men. I heard Thomas shouting orders. The back
doors of the ambulance flew open, a gurney was slid out and hurried toward a neighboring lawn. Upon that lawn a woman lay very still, her belly swollen against a thin blue nightgown. Lee was kneeling, shirtless, by her side.

“Connie!”

At my scream Lee’s head jerked. His face was streaked with soot, his thick black hair matted with sweat and grime. A large bruise purpled one shoulder. He pulled to his feet as I reached him, encircling me with his arms. For a moment we clung to each other, trembling. Then he pulled away. I couldn’t speak.

“She breathed a lot a smoke, but she’s not burned.”

I swallowed. “Miss Wilma?”

“They took her over there.” He pointed to the porch next door. “She wouldn’t leave Connie, but she near collapsed a minute ago.”

His mother’s face reflected the fire like a paste-covered orange. She swooned forward as if to erase the distance between her and her daughter. Women stood around her, holding her shoulders firmly. “She’ll be all right, she’s all right,” I heard them insist. “Just let ‘em work on her.”

“God, help her,” I prayed. I leaned back into Lee, wishing it all away. Then we were kneeling by Connie’s feet, looking on helplessly as the medics administered oxygen and checked vital signs. I adjusted her nightgown modestly over her knees. Found her hand and squeezed. “It’s me, Connie.”

She squeezed back, faintly.

“What about the baby?” Lee asked thickly.

The medics kept working. “We’ve done what we can here, sir,” one finally replied. “She’s stabilized enough to take her in.”

“What about the baby?”

“We have a heartbeat.”

“But is it okay?”

“It’s alive, sir.”

Quick as lightning, Lee grabbed the startled medic by his shirt and held on. “But is it
okay?”

I reached for his arm with both hands. “Lee, don’t, the baby’s fine, calm down.” He swiveled toward me, furious. “Come on, Lee.” Gently I loosened his fingers from the fabric. “Please.” He glared at me, breathing shallowly, until the anger slid from his face like ice from a windowpane. Letting go of the shirt, he pushed back on his haunches. “I’m goin’ with you,” he informed the medic.

“There’s not much room—”

“I’m goin’
with
you!”

“I want to go too,” I protested.

“No. Stay with Mama.” He caught himself at his harshness, laid hands against my cheeks. “She’ll need you. Make sure she’s okay, then bring her to the hospital.”

I nodded, throat tightening.

He kissed me, quickly and hard.

Connie’s gurney disappeared into the ambulance. Lee climbed in after her. Twin doors slammed. I backed up as the ambulance’s engine roared, its taillights glowing demon red, siren rising to a keen. As it wailed up the street, I turned away to see about Miss Wilma. At that moment a loud
crack
tore through my ears, and I spun around to see the back of the Hardings’ house tear apart to crash in flames against the red brick chimney.

It was the only part left standing.

T
he brown-orange chair upon which I slumped needed new cushioning. After four hours my lower back ached something awful. I leaned my head against the wall, trying to focus gritty eyes on the door of room 347, barely in view before the hall turned a corner to pass the nurses’ station. Miss Wilma was sitting on a small couch to my left, staring blankly at a piece of white lint on the floor. Intermittent whispered prayers spilled from her grim lips. Every now and then she’d push at the lint with one foot, ill-shod in a neighbor’s shoe. She wore a yellow housedress, also borrowed, and insanely bright for the gloom clustered above us like a rain-cloud. Her hair was pulled back in a scraggly low ponytail, a stray wisp against one pale cheek. Lee was next to me on my right. The green shirt I’d brought him was a size too small, pulling tight across his chest and arms. Fortunately, he’d been able to slip into his own shoes before half-carrying Miss Wilma and Connie out of their burning, smoke-choked house. He’d not said a thing to me in more than two hours. I tried to convince myself his mind was so full that words couldn’t empty it. But I knew his anger at me had returned.

Lee had been here the longest. After the ambulance had screamed away into the night, it had taken me almost an hour to calm Miss Wilma, find some clothes to replace her nightgown, and get my car and purse. I’d tried to put her in bed at Elsa Brock’s, who lived just a few doors down. Doc Richardson had lent a hand, pleading with her to take a sedative, but she’d have none of it. By the time we reached the hospital, she looked exhausted, and she’d barely changed positions after collapsing onto the couch.

I watched the clock. The last time we’d heard from Doctor Brights, who’d been Wilma Harding’s doctor for years, was around 6 A.M. Connie was nearly asleep, stabilized by oxygen, he’d told us, when a labor pain had aroused her. She was dilated one to two centimeters. “She might as well have the baby while she’s here,” he soothed at our stricken expressions. “She’s stable enough to handle it, and the fetal heart rate is still normal. But let her rest a while; she can doze between contractions.”

The hands of the clock clicked past 9:15. I wondered if the town had gone back to bed after the fire. I wondered if Aunt Eva was at the post office as usual, if Uncle Frank was with strikers at the mill. The IGA must be open, and Tull’s and the hardware store and dime store. Life went on. My life, however, would have to be put on hold for a few days. There was no way to leave tomorrow morning, not in the midst of this. I’d at least have to help Miss Wilma and Connie get settled somewhere. And Connie would be returning with a newborn to no crib, no clothes, no blankets. I pictured her beautiful nursery and playroom, and wanted to weep. The image of it all in ashes—especially the lamp of golden-winged angels—left me weak and hollow-lunged. And there was Lee, who sat beside me like a stone, edging his arm away should I happen to brush it, rubbing his palms when I reached for his hand. Sighing, I placed a finger between my eyebrows and rubbed.

At 9:45 the doctor finally reappeared, his rubber-soled feet lightly squeaking down the hall. Doctor Brights’s head was half bald and shiny, black-framed glasses enlarging kind eyes. His hands
were in the pockets of his white coat. When Lee pushed to his feet, he towered over the doctor, who tilted back his head with a reassuring smile. “She’s definitely in the beginning stages of labor,” he said. “We’ll be moving her to the obstetrics ward, and I’ll inform Doctor Richardson. He’ll come in to take over. I’ll check in on her from time to time, but she’ll be in good hands with him and really shouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Do you know anything more about the baby?” Miss Wilma’s voice was a tremor.

“Unfortunately, no. We won’t know until it’s born if there is any lasting damage, but we don’t think there will be. Wilma,” he walked over and took her hand, “I know you’ve been through a lot and you’ve gotten no sleep. This being a first baby, labor’s likely to take all day. I suggest you go to a neighbor’s and rest. When the pains get close, we’ll call and someone can bring you back.”

“No.”

“Now, Wilma—”

“I said no!” she declared, gathering herself. “That’s my baby girl in there. I’m
not
leavin’ her!”

“Mama, maybe the doc’s right.”

“Hush, Lee! Doctor Brights, help me up.” She scooted forward, extending her arm. He gripped it and pulled, anchoring her as she reached for her cane. The folds of her dress wafted around her knees like wilted daisy petals. “There.” Straightening as best she could, she glanced purposefully at each of us. “Now let me tell y’all somethin’. I’m no spring chicken, and I been through a lot in my life, even worse than last night. Now I got a job to do and y’all best leave me to it. My mama coached me havin’ my babies just like her mother done for her. There’s jus’ some things a doctor cain’t do.” She took a deep breath. “I’m goin’ into Connie’s room now, Doc, and when they move her, I’ll follow along. Jessie, I hope you’ll stay. Connie loves you, and I could use your help. Lee, there’s not much for you to do here. You could go on back to town and see about findin’ us a place to stay and collect some things for
the baby. The churches’ll help. And git Will Abrams movin’ on the insurance. That done, you come on back and check on your sister. And son”—she walked a few steps to stand before him, her gaze intent—”be patient. Don’t let that temper a yours get the best a you. Maybe we’ll find the cause a the fire and maybe we won’t. Don’t go blamin’ yourself. Findin’ the cause don’t matter much anyway; the house’ll still be burned.”

That said, Miss Wilma urged the doctor aside and crossed the waiting room carpet, her cane clicking tinnily when it hit tile. “Jessie,” she added, half turning, “I’d appreciate a few minutes with Connie first, if you don’t mind. You and Lee look like you’ve got a few things to settle anyway.”

As she worked her way down the hall—a woman on a mission—Doctor Brights shrugged at us good-naturedly. “I guess that’s that. I’ll go call Doctor Richardson.”

Lee heaved back into his chair and wearily put his head in his hands.

T
he phone jangled impatiently on the kitchen wall, jangled and jangled until he woke from a restless sleep, rolled out of bed to answer its summons. “Hello.” He swallowed thickness as the caller identified himself. “Yeah.”

“It’s near ten,” the voice said, “don’t tell me I got you up.”

“‘Course you got me up; couldn’t go back to sleep till almost dawn. I held that hose so long my arms feel like they’s busted.” He blinked swollen eyes. “Any news?”

“The Hardings’re still at the hospital. I heared Connie’s havin’ her baby.”

“Oh, no. When it rains, it pours.”

“Yeah. And somethin’ else. There’s already a couple a inspectors from Albertsville pawin’ through the wreckage. Got the place all roped off. Bill Scutch and Thomas’re with ‘em. Bill asked for their help to figure out what started the fire. Or who.”

The last two words rang in his head. “What’re you sayin’?”

“Well now, don’t you think the timin’s a mite suspicious?”

“Are you thinkin’ a Riddum?”

“Yup.”

“No. Riddum may be selfish, but he ain’t no idiot.”

“Not in his eyes, maybe.”

“Why would he do it?”

“To warn us. Strike at a leader. And because he thinks he can git away with it, just like he thought he could git away with his greediness.”

He pulled a chair out from the table, sank into it. “You better be careful. We’d have to be sure.”

“I know. Word’s out to wait for the inspectors. ‘Course Bledger’s rarin’ to go.”

“God help us.” He put a hand around his jaw. “What’re we gonna do?”

The caller blew out air. “It ain’t gonna be sleepin’, that’s for sure.”

L
ee and I sat in the waiting room, examining the walls. “You going home like your mom said?” I finally asked.

His arms were crossed. “I ain’t got a home.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Why? You tryin’ to get rid a me?”

“Lee, please.”

“I don’t know if I’m goin’ ‘home,’ Jessie. I don’t know
what
I’m gonna do. I got so much to do, I don’t know where to start. Besides, you’re the one’s goin’ ‘home.’ In fact, ain’t you supposed to be packin’ ‘bout now?”

I steadied myself. He had a right to be upset. “I’m gonna stick around a few more days. Luckily, I don’t start work till the fifteenth, so it’ll be okay.”

He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Don’t stay around on my account.”

A hot ball rolled up my throat, and I pushed it back down. “All right then. I’ll stay for Connie and your mother.”

No reply.

“You don’t have to worry about finding a place for your sister and mother. Elsa Brock has already offered her two bedrooms, and says she can fit a crib in the bigger one. And Bill Hensley up the street said you could have his daughter’s old room now that she’s married. So you won’t be far from each other. And I can call the church; by the time Connie goes home those ladies will have gathered everything she needs.” I thought of the baby clothes we had so lovingly folded and put into drawers. The yellow walls and matching blanket. Tears singed my eyes. “It was all so beautiful, Lee. You did such a wonderful job on those rooms.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. Dead. “It’s my fault. The fire.”

I searched his face, unable to reply. How well his mother knew him.

“It started in those rooms. That’s why Connie breathed more smoke than Mama or me. I’ve gone over and over it, sittin’ here. What did I do wrong; what wires did I cross. Somethin’ must a shorted, but I cain’t figure out what for the life a me. But I do know I almost killed my sister. And her baby.”

“No, Lee. I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true.” He nodded slowly, up and down, up and down, eyes fixed on the carpet. “I should know. I was there.”

I despaired for convincing words. And then a coldness free-fell through my body. I turned to him, face blanching white. “Which room?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I think the nursery, not the playroom. The first thing I heard was Connie screamin’ it was on fire.”

“Oh, no.” My eyes traveled the floor. “It wasn’t you, Lee,” I rasped. “It was my curtains. I saw them blowing against that lamp. I
saw
it! I should have
known!”