Cold Sassy Tree (51 page)

"What do you think about Enterprise?" she asked sleepily. "Or Progressive City? What about Sheffield? Those were suggested in last week's paper."

"Any one a-them names on a postmark would bore me to death, jest like Commerce does. They say a Englishman come th'ew Harmony Grove in nineteen aught-one, sellin' silverware. The next year he come th'ew agin and like to had a fit when he seen 'Welcome to Commerce' where it used to say 'Welcome to Harmony Grove.' He'd sent in Harmony Grove to name a new park over in England and it won him a five-hundret-dollar prize, but over on this side a-the ocean, folks thought it sounded tacky and countrified."

"Cold Sassy wouldn't win a prize anywhere," Miss Love said. "Admit that."

"Naw, it wouldn't. But it suits the town."

"You suit me, Rucker." Her eyes all shiny, she looked at him and murmured, "The last few months with you..." Her lips trembled. "Dear Rucker, I think you know, but I want to say it. This has been the only really happy time of my whole life."

Grandpa smiled and touched her hair. "I cain't say it's the onliest happy time for me, ma'am. But they shore ain't never been any to equal it!"

She giggled. "Now quit sayin'
ma'am
to me. That's what people call old ladies, or their betters."

"You're my better."

"No, I ain't, I'm just your—" A look of surprise crossed her face and she burst out laughing. "Good Lord, Rucker, I just said
ain't!
Before you know it I'll be saying
hit ain't!
"

He tried not to laugh, to save his ribs. "Well, come 'ere, honey. Learn me how to talk right." Wincing, Grandpa pulled her close and kissed her, hard. Then, keeping his mouth on hers, he loosed the pins from her hair. Just as it fell around her neck in a wavy brown mass, he jerked away. "Yore dang nose!" he yelped. "Hit hit my nose!" Quick tears filled his eyes. Then he whispered, "Didn't hurt a-tall," and kissed her again—but a lot more careful.

Long minutes later, I heard her whisper, "If I held you tight as I want to, Rucker, your nose and your ribs and your knee couldn't stand the pain."

"Then don't do it," he whispered back, kissing each freckled cheek. "I can tell you, pain don't do nothin' for ro-mance!"

"Remember that when you rub stiff whiskers on my face and I say
ouch
instead of
oh darling.
"

He rubbed his chin against her cheek. "Well'm, they ain't stiff now."

"Don't say
well'm.
"

"All right'm." He laughed, and kissed her again.

"Oh, dear, dear man. I love you. I love you."

They quit talking then, and drifted off to sleep, and I tiptoed out.

I was ashamed of myself, and embarrassed. But by golly, I had my missing last chapter. If Grandpa and Miss Love weren't already living happy ever after, they would be soon as he got well.

***

But the last chapter wasn't finished.

By middle of the week, Grandpa was coughing and running a little fever. By Friday it hurt him to breathe and it like to killed him when he coughed. Mama went down and stayed all day. Doc came by every chance he could.

Saturday morning, just as we sat down to breakfast, here came little Timmy Hopkins, saying Miz Blakeslee wanted Mr. Hoyt to ring up Dr. Slaughter. Said tell him Mr. Blakeslee was having a bad chill and he'd coughed up some dark, rusty sputum.

I
WENT
in the Cadillac to fetch Doc, who began fussing at Grandpa before he got in the room hardly. "I don't care if it does hurt to breathe, Rucker, you got to git some air down there." He put his hand on Grandpa's forehead. "Hot as a firecracker!"

Despite all the blankets on him, Grandpa was shaking like a dog pulled out of a frozen pond. As Dr. Slaughter bent over him with the stethoscope, he asked, "Wh-wh-what you th-think I g-got, D-Doc?"

"Shet up, Rucker. I cain't hear with you a-talkin'.'

Doc listened all over his chest and his back, too. "Where does it hurt when you cough?"

"B-b-between my sh-shoulder blades. You r-reckon it's a t-tetch a-pleurisy?"

Doc straightened up. "Naw, it's a tetch of pneumonia, Rucker. More'n a tetch, tell you the truth. I can hear the rales. But you're strong as a ox, you know. You go'n pull th'ew all right."

Out in the hall, though, Dr. Slaughter told us he was worried. "Rucker's tough, but losin' all thet blood ain't go'n hep, and he shore could do without them broke ribs. He could do without the pneumonia, for thet matter." He sighed.

"I don't understand," said Miss Love, dazed. "I thought I was doing all I should for him. But he got worse so fast."

"Hit ain't your fault, honey. Thet's the way pneumonia is. Hit comes on with a bang, then it has to run its course, and we won't know which way it'll go till the crisis comes." Doc put on his hat. "Now listen to me, Miss Love," he said. "Rucker's fever is aw-ready a hundret and five. Hit could go lots higher. For shore, he's go'n git lots worse fore he gits better. So you let Mary Willis and Loma come up here and hep with the nursin'. You hear me?"

"I couldn't ask them to do that."

"You ain't got to ast'm. You jest got to let'm. Soon as he gits over the chill, y'all go'n be spongin' him off night and day. We got to keep his fever down, else it might cook his brains. You understand, Miss Love? And keep the windows open. He needs fresh air. Don't let the whole dang fam'ly set in there around the bed, usin' up the oxygen."

My mother and Aunt Loma arrived right after he left, just as Doc knew they would. After school I went to the store as usual, but Papa told me to go on to Grandpa's and stay there. "Get the chores done," he said, "and be there in case they need to send for hep. Too bad Miss Love ain't got a telephone."

It was awful, listening to Grandpa cough and hack and moan. I was glad to go get busy outside. In my mind I can still picture Granny's rose garden that day, the bushes decorated with buds and blossoms. But at the time I just glanced at the garden and went on to the barn to see after the animals.

While I was pitching hay, Miss Love came out and stood by the pasture gate. I climbed down from the loft to see if she needed anything, but she just shook her head, watching as Mr. Beautiful galloped up and put his head over the railing to be petted. She rubbed his ears and stroked his neck, but her mind wasn't on him.

"If your grandfather dies," she said bitterly, "I won't stay in Cold Sassy any longer than it takes to sell the house. I hate this town. It's like life. It gives, and then it takes away."

I couldn't bear the thought of Cold Sassy without Grandpa or her, either one. As we started back to the house, I begged her, "Ma'am, don't give up on him. Like Doc said, he's strong. He's go'n get well. Hear?"

That night we were all there for supper, even Mary Toy and Campbell Junior. Miss Love sponged Grandpa off while the rest of us ate.

Mama was just leaving the table to take her turn with him when we heard Grandpa say, real loud, "Miss Love, you better git on back to the store now...." He paused for breath. "We're much obliged, but Miss Mattie Lou don't need no more hep."

Forks clattered onto plates as Papa and Aunt Loma and I jumped up and dashed to the sickroom, leaving Mary Toy and poor little Campbell Junior sitting there, confused and scared. We got to the bedroom door in time to hear Grandpa say, "Best go on now, Miss Love. They short-handed at the store."

"But I live here, Rucker! Remember? I'm your—"

"Miss Mattie Lou?" Looking toward the door, not seeing us at all, he said brightly, "You want to serve Miss Love some cake? She's got to get back to the store terreckly."

Grandpa had a bad spell of coughing then. Soon as he could speak, he said, "Did you ever git Miss Pauline's hat finished, Miss Love? She come in yesterd'y, astin' bout it."

"Call me Love, Rucker," she begged, kneeling down by the bed so she could look right in his face. "Please, call me Love!"

Trying hard not to cough again—it hurt so bad—and looking right at her, he asked Miss Mattie Lou for some water.

At that, Miss Love rose to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. My mother reached out like to a hurt child, and Miss Love stumbled into her arms.

I couldn't stand it. I fled to the back porch, knelt down by the tall slab table, and begged God to let Grandpa get well.

Mama and I stayed all night, her taking turns with Miss Love at the sickbed. The fever raged despite all the sponging, and Grandpa couldn't sleep for coughing and talking. Sometimes he just mumbled gibberish. Other times it was real sentences, but they didn't make sense. Then again he'd speak clear as anything, telling jokes or carrying on a conversation with some person we couldn't see.

For a while Grandpa was back in the War with his daddy. There would be a handful of words; then he'd get quiet and Miss Love would say he's gone to sleep, thank God. But soon he'd take up where he left off. I remember him mumbling something about a battlefield. "Hit was awful, Pa.... All them dead Yankees layin' there. I tried to find you ... some boots, but they jest warn't none left.... Our boys had done hepped theirselves."

He talked about seeing a Yankee balloon. "Pa, you reckon they spotted our battle-ments? Ifn they did, Lord hep us!" And Grandpa sat bolt upright in the bed. I helped Miss Love ease him back down on his side. "Who're you, ma'am?" he asked as his eyes focused.

Remembering that Grandpa had been a boy like me in the War, she said, "I'm your nurse, son. They—uh, they brought you to the hospital."

"Where's my daddy at?"

"Uh, on the next cot. But let's don't wake him up. He's worn out."

"We ain't go'n march t'morrer?" He pulled nervous at his whiskers.

"No. Don't talk anymore now. Try to rest."

I brought in another pan of water. Miss Love wrung out the towel again and slowly, so weary, she wiped his back and his neck, his face and arms and then his legs. After while he seemed to sleep, but in no time was coughing again and talking.

He wasn't in the War now. He was with Miss Mattie Lou—coughing and mumbling disconnected sentences picked out of the air from this or that time in their life. He was a Graphophone record kept on a shelf for thirty years and getting played again now. His eyes were unnatural bright, his breathing short and fast and difficult, and what he coughed up was tinged with bright red blood.

About ten o'clock, Mama talked Miss Love into lying down a while, "even if you cain't sleep."

As Mama bent over the wash basin on the floor to wring out a towel, Grandpa fixed his eyes on her. But it was Granny that he saw. "Miss Mattie Lou ... they's something I got to confess, hon.... You deserve ... to know what kind a-man ... you done pledged yoreself to marry."

Oh, law, was Mama fixing to hear how he'd loved Miss Love from the minute he laid eyes on her?

"I been shamed to tell you ... but I ne'ly ... got run out a-them hills ... last month." Then he told her bout callin' hisself to preach. With her and him fixin' to git married, it was go'n be his last peddlin' walk th'ew the mountains and he was jest sick and tarred a-sleepin' on the ground. Figgered the church folks would put a preacher up and feed him, too. "I acted a lie, Miss Mattie Lou ... and it shore did ... backfire. Fore I was hardly ... into my sermon...."

His voice trailed off.

"Hush now, Pa," said my mother, wiping his chest as best she could around the binding, which wasn't easy, with him lying on his left side to favor the broke ribs.

I sure wished Granny was here. She could always think of something to do for a sick person. But that night Mama was like Granny. "Pa, try to take some water," she'd say, lifting his head and holding a glass to his cracked, parched lips. Then she'd rub his mouth with Mentholatum, or maybe lay a wet washrag over his eyes.

"Sit down and rest, Mama," I finally told her. "I'll wash him."

Staring right at me, pulling at his whiskers kind of frantic, Grandpa said, "Miss Mattie Lou?"

"I'm Will, sir. I'm your boy...."

Granny's clock had just chimed midnight when Miss Love came back in, her eyes dark-circled, her green print dress wrinkled. "I'm afraid I dozed off, Mary Willis," she whispered. "Is he better? Has he slept any?"

My mother shook her head. "No, he cain't rest for talkin'. I cain't understand why Dr. Slaughter don't come. He said he'd come."

"He said he'd come if he could. Miss Herma is having her baby. I guess he couldn't leave her. I'll take over now, Mary Willis. You try to get some sleep. Use the bed in the front room." Miss Love had become businesslike and mechanical. "Will, you go lie down on the daybed in the hall."

"I ain't tired, Miss Love. I'll stay."

Grandpa drifted into a fitful sleep, then waked with a start about two-thirty and between gasps for breath went to raging at something or somebody, all the time pulling at his whiskers.

"We've got to get him quiet," said Miss Love. "Will, can you manage by yourself?" I nodded and reached for the wet towel. She tiptoed out, and in a minute there came to my ears—and to Grandpa's, I could tell—the sound of piano music. Miss Love played hymn after hymn. "Faith of Our Fathers," "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God," "Rock of Ages," "Abide With Me." All his favorites, chording slower and slower, quieter and quieter. And Grandpa calmed down.

At daybreak the fever was still high. He was back with Granny when Dr. Slaughter arrived.

Mama had gone on home. Aunt Loma arrived to fix our breakfast and then took over the sponging so we could eat, but we all carried our plates to the sickroom. Miss Love let her eggs turn cold while she hovered over Grandpa.

Finally he spoke to her. Spoke her name. "Miss Love?" he whispered. Oh, she was so excited. "Miss Love, make ... Miss Mattie Lou ... rest some, hear.... She's been up ... all night, seein'...after me."

Miss Love looked like she'd been slapped. "I feel sick, Loma," she said, and left the room crying.

When she didn't come back and didn't come back, I said, "Aunt Loma, you think I ought to go see about her?"

"Maybe you better."

I figured she was out at the barn, and she was. The black gelding had trotted up to her, but she paid him no mind. She heard me coming and turned quick toward me. "Will! He's not—"