Dunaway's Crossing (10 page)

C
hapter 10

B
ea Dot turned her back to the ledger and leaned on the counter to relieve her aching back and feet. With Will on his mail route, she hustled to assist the flux of customers. California always said, “All the nuts come out in the rain.” That might have been true in Savannah, but in rural Georgia, everyone came out after the rain, like ants swarming to repair their damaged nest. She hadn’t realized how much effort went into operating a store until she’d taken on the task herself. Now she admired Will’s ability to recognize a need in this rural community and work hard to fill it. The customers who came to the crossing always asked after Will, and their questions spoke of the same admiration for him that she was developing.

She had sold out of coffee and was running low on kerosene. Will would have to make another trip to town to restock, and he’d just come home from Pineview yesterday. She’d mentioned once or twice already that a truck would make his work more efficient, but he’d rejected the suggestion soundly. She knew not to make it again.

Every person so far had tracked in red mud so that Will’s beautiful pine floors looked just like the road outside. At first, Bea Dot occasionally swept up with irritation, but she eventually gave up that battle, hating the idea of the new planks quickly growing dull with wear.

She peered out the window at the rumble of an engine. Several motorcars had passed by, but none had stopped. Customers at the crossing typically arrived on foot or by horseback. Several folks came in asking to call in telegrams. Not knowing whether Will charged for those services, Bea Dot wrote down the messages for Will to call in when he returned. One family had just had a baby. Another—bless their hearts—had lost a son in France. Bea Dot’s chest ached for the heartbroken man who left that message. A third family had canceled a trip to Atlanta. Bea Dot already knew why, but she listened to the woman’s reasoning anyway. “My cousins wrote me and said they was leaving the city to get away from all the sickness. I’d of invited ’em to stay with me, but what if they brung the flu with ’em?”

So the outbreak wasn’t isolated to Pineview. She and Netta had wondered. The cousins were dying for a newspaper, but Netta’s was delivered to the house, and Will didn’t subscribe. They depended on the sprinklings of news that walked through the door each day, and even those bits of information were speculative since many farming families had chosen not to go to town that week for market day.

If Atlanta had been hit, had the flu also affected Savannah? She picked up a pencil to jot down a telegram to Aunt Lavinia, but then she drew her hand to her mouth. What if Ben caught the disease? She shook the thought from her head, ashamed to be the kind of person to wish for someone else’s—even Ben’s—death.

The telephone rang again, interrupting Bea Dot’s musings, so she pushed herself away from the counter and stepped on aching feet to the telephone stand. “Dunaway’s Crossing,” she answered into the mouthpiece.

“Bea Dot? Is that you?”

“Yes, yes it is.” Bea Dot frowned, not recognizing the voice at first.

“It’s Ralph calling, Bea Dot.”

“Ralph, thank goodness. Are you well?” Her heart thumped with simultaneous relief and concern. “What is happening there? We keep hearing such dreadful stories.”

Netta’s face appeared in the bedroom door, and with her arm Bea Dot beckoned her to the phone. Netta waddled over, anticipation lighting her face. Bea Dot didn’t even hear Ralph’s answer to her questions because Netta grabbed the earpiece and pushed herself in front of the phone, edging Bea Dot out of her way.

“Ralph, oh darling, how are you? I’ve missed you so . . . Yes . . . I’ve tried to call, but I never get an answer.”

Bea Dot stepped out to give Netta some privacy, understanding her cousin’s urgency but also a little annoyed at being pushed aside. Maybe now Netta would stop chewing on her lip and sighing into her teacup. Still, she wished she’d been able to get more information from Ralph.

Bea Dot rubbed her lower back as she turned her face to the midday sun. The warmth, combined with the brisk breeze, refreshed her. Her feet still smarting, she stepped over to the log bench in front of the store. “Ooh,” she said as she sat down. Leaning forward relieved her back even more. She stretched out her legs and put her hands on her knees, relishing the welcome ache in her lower back. If this position felt good, would touching her toes feel even better? Could she even do that? She crawled her fingers down her shins, over the hem of her skirt, and across her bootlaces until she clutched the tips of her feet. Across her back and down her hamstrings, the tension felt so good that she sat that way for a minute or so, examining a stinkbug inching its way into the shadow under the bench.

“Well, ain’t you a nimble thang?”

“Whoop!” Bea Dot almost fell over as the husky voice caught her by surprise. She straightened and shielded her eyes as she looked up at a smiling man towering over her petite frame. At least six feet tall, he was as wide as Santa’s doorway. With wiry blond hair and a beard to match, he looked exactly the way she’d envisioned Odysseus. His dialect, however, more resembled Huckleberry Finn.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am. I just ain’t never seen nobody grab they feet like that.”

“It’s quite all right.” Bea Dot stood, her face burning, but not from the sun. Regaining her composure, she replied, “Can I help you?”

The man held out his hand, even though Bea Dot had not offered hers first. “Thaddeus Taylor. I live in the house on the neighboring property. You Miss Netta’s cousin?”

“Yes, I’m Bea Dot Ferguson.” She took his hand, which completely covered hers.

“Pleased to meecha. Will told me y’all was staying here.” He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area.

“I’m minding the store for Will while he’s delivering mail,” Bea Dot explained. “Do you need anything?”

“Oh, naw, not today.” He waved his big paw like he was swatting away a bee. “Just thought I’d stop by and see how y’all’s doing. I ain’t seen the store since it got up and running. My son Terrence, you know, helped put in the shelving and what not.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Bea Dot replied. “Do come in and see. Netta is talking to her husband on the telephone.”

He nodded as he followed her through the door. Netta was just hanging up the earpiece. “How’s things in town?” he asked.

“I suppose you should ask my cousin,” Bea Dot said, smiling at Netta, who had just hung up the earpiece. “She has the latest word from Pineview.”

Netta stepped away from the telephone, offering a polite countenance and voice. Still, Bea Dot could tell Ralph had said something to worry her. Netta balled a handkerchief in her fist.

“Why, Thaddeus Taylor, how are you?” she asked. “How is that new baby of yours?” She leaned on the store’s front counter with one hand and put the other behind her back.

“Doing well, Miss Netta, and the baby’s fine. Little boy. Named Troy.”

“What a nice, strong name,” Netta said with a faint smile. “Do tell Eliza I’ll look forward to meeting him as soon as I can.”

“I’ll do that,” Thaddeus said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go lie down.” Netta turned to leave with a stoop in her shoulders.

“Netta, do you feel well?” Bea Dot called after her. “Can I bring you anything?” Did Ralph have bad news? The phone call should have perked Netta up.

Netta held her hand up in refusal as she slowly disappeared into the bedroom.

“She’s close to her time,” Thaddeus said, almost as if he needed to apologize for her. “Bet she’s as tired as a coal man in January.”

“I suppose so.” Bea Dot shook her head in sympathy.

“Well, I’ll be going,” Thaddeus said, turning to the door. “Let you women have some quiet. Tell Will his store looks mighty fine. Mighty fine.”

Just as Bea Dot said good-bye to Thaddeus, two customers arrived. One needed cornmeal; the other asked for mousetraps of all things. Bea Dot couldn’t help him with that but assured him she’d ask Will to bring some from Pineview on his next trip. Eager to see about Netta, Bea Dot almost pushed the customers out of the store.

In the bedroom, Netta sat solemn-faced as she rocked slowly and stared out the window onto the lake. Before Ralph’s call, she’d been anxious and nervous, telling Bea Dot how to arrange items on the shelves and sweep the floor. Now she was deflated.

“Tell me about your telephone call.” Bea Dot sat on the end of one bed. She watched Netta’s back as she rocked. Netta remained quiet for so long that Bea Dot wondered if she’d heard the question.

“Netta?”

Netta shook her head slowly. “Mrs. Bradley died last week,” she said quietly. “She was in my sewing circle.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bea Dot’s heart plunged into her stomach. She could have told Netta about that last night.

“Before we came out here, Mr. Bradley came to the house looking for Ralph. He told me Ina was sick, but I thought she’d had a bad cold. If I had only known, I would have sent for Ralph right away.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Bea Dot said. “How could you have known the flu would be so severe?”

Netta kept rocking.

“And Edith Gentry died too. She was the organist at our church. Now her husband is in the hospital.” Netta turned toward Bea Dot as much as her body would let her. “I thought Ralph was calling us to come home.” Her eyes pooled, and her face pinked. “He was calling to tell me not to worry if I don’t hear from him for a while. He has so little time for telephone calls.” A brief sob escaped from her lips. Bea Dot took the handkerchief from the nightstand and handed it to her cousin.

“But he’s all right, isn’t he?” A flash of frustration shot through Bea Dot. Why did Ralph tell Netta all that bad news?

Netta nodded as she cried into her hanky. Then she took a deep breath and blew her nose. Another minute went by before she spoke again.

“I’m so silly,” she said. “All this time I was worried about him getting enough to eat and getting enough rest.” She huffed a cynical laugh. “I actually thought Ralph had sent us out here because I was so cautious about the baby.” She rubbed her round belly. “It never occurred to me that he was afraid for our lives.”

“I’m sure he didn’t want to alarm you.”

“Bea Dot, what if Ralph gets sick himself?” Netta’s chin quivered. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were lifting a huge ball. “I can’t raise this baby by myself.”

Panic simmered behind Netta’s eyes, and Bea Dot kneeled next to Netta’s rocker and clutched her hands.

“Stop thinking like that,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. “Ralph is counting on you to be brave. He’s doing everything he can to protect himself.” At least she hoped he was. “All of that effort will be for naught if you drive yourself to an early labor with all this worrying.”

Netta straightened, to Bea Dot’s relief. Thank goodness she’d struck a chord.

“You’re right.” Netta inhaled, then sighed. “I must pull myself together and stop behaving like a scared child. Ralph deserves better.”

“That’s the right attitude.” Bea Dot tucked a wayward blond lock behind Netta’s ear. Then she rose, her knees creaking from kneeling on the hardwood floor. “Maybe you should lie down for a little while.”

“I have this layette to finish,” she replied, shaking her head. “Then I must write to Ralph. A letter from me will do him good.”

Bea Dot smiled, hoping Netta realized the blessings of a husband who returned her love. She sighed and shuffled to the back porch, where she lowered herself heavily into one of Will’s rocking chairs, as if she’d absorbed all the weight of Netta’s fears. What if Ralph took sick? What then? And even if he stayed well, how long would this outbreak last? What about all the people coming in and out of the store? Could they bring influenza to the crossing? Would Netta give birth out here in the country? Would Bea Dot have to deliver the baby?

After urging Netta to stop worrying about what-ifs, Bea Dot couldn’t help imagining them herself. A chilly breeze whisked through the pines, and Bea Dot shivered. The lake had lost its calming effect. Instead of the soothing laps of the waves, she heard only the repeated rhythmic sound,
black, black, black
.

Unable to listen anymore, she returned indoors, back to the storefront. She sorted the telegrams to be called in—the canceled trip, the death announcement. She let them drop to the table.

She wanted Will to come home.

C
hapter 11

T
his old coat wrapped round me tight as Dick’s hat band,” Cal muttered into her chest. She shrugged and lowered her head against the October wind. The gusts blew through the tattered wool coat, and the front of her skirt pushed through her legs, giving her the appearance of wearing pants. “This chill come up sudden, like God say, ‘Summer over! Here come fall.’ ”

Daylight dimmed as she hustled up Jones Street, hoping to reach the Barksdale home before dinner. Mr. David hated to be interrupted while he ate.

“God, don’t take my Matilda,” she muttered on her way. “I done lost my baby. Done lost my mama. Even Miss Bea Dot gone away. All I got now is my Tilda and her two girls. Don’t take ’em now.”

Ahead, lights shone in the Barksdales’ dining room, and Cal’s heart sped with worry.
Maybe Penny still setting the table
, she thought as she jogged to the yard and around to the back door. She took the steps two at a time and pulled the screen door open to knock, but the wind blew the handle out of her hand and slammed the door against the jamb. Before California could open it again, Penny pushed it wide. “Why in the world Mr. Ferguson send you out this time a day?”

Penny stood aside, allowing California into the Barksdales’ warm kitchen, which smelled like cooked onion. Cal shook off the temptation of the fireplace. “He didn’t, Penny. I come to see Mr. Barksdale. He eating dinner yet?”

“Just sit down.” Penny gave a quick nod.

California’s heart sank as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Should she ask Penny to interrupt him?

“What’s wrong with you, Cal? You look like you stepped in ants.”

California’s eyes burned as she tried to hold back tears, but her throat went tight and her chin warbled. Penny wrinkled her brow, took California’s arm, and led her to the fireplace, pushing down on Cal’s arm so she’d sit in the maple rocker. California couldn’t speak without tears flowing.

“It’s Matilda. She bad sick. I got to talk to Mr. David. I need him to call a doctor for me.”

“That ain’t gone do no good. Dr. Washington ain’t got no phone.”

What did Penny think? That Cal had gone silly?

“I been looking for Dr. Washington two days,” Cal said. “Left messages, but he ain’t come, and nobody know where he at.”

Penny put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You mean you want Mr. David to call Dr. Arnold?”

California nodded. “I wouldn’t ask, but she real bad off. I’m ’fraid she gone die.” The tears flowed again, and California pulled the kerchief off her head and blew her nose. Her face burned with embarrassment, but she didn’t know what else to do.

Penny’s face softened. She bit her lip in reluctance, showing her fear of angering Mr. David with an interruption. Thank heavens Miss Lavinia called her in.

Through the door, Miss Lavinia’s voice revealed her slight irritation. “What’s the commotion in there?” Penny’s and Mr. David’s voices were muffled, impossible to make out. Cal breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t yelling at Penny. A chair scraped against the floor, and more than two footsteps approached the door.

Miss Lavinia glided in wearing her beaded blue dress. She always dressed for supper like she was going to a party. Her poufy gray-blond hair framed her face like a halo. California hoped she’d be an angel of mercy tonight.

“California, what’s wrong?”

“I need your help, Miss Lavinia.” Cal stood as she spoke. “Or Mr. David’s help. My sister Matilda’s real bad sick. Can you call Dr. Arnold for me? Please?”

Miss Lavinia stepped back a pace and asked why Cal didn’t call Dr. Washington. Cal wanted to slap her lights on.
She know better than to think I ain’t tried that
. Stuffing down her exasperation, Cal relayed what she’d just told Penny a few minutes before. “Tilda can’t hardly breathe. She all gurgly like she got water in her chest, and she starting to turn blue.”

Miss Lavinia’s face contorted like she’d just seen a dead animal on the road. “Blue?”

“How can a black woman turn blue?” Penny asked.

“I can’t explain it, but she blue in the lips and fingers. She can’t breathe, Miss Lavinia. Please call Dr. Arnold.” California leaned forward, her palms together as if in prayer.

Miss Lavinia put her hand on her forehead. Cal knew what Miss Lavinia was thinking, but she hoped her heart was bigger than her concern about what other people would think.

“If you call Dr. Arnold, he’ll come. He won’t do it for me, but he’ll do it for you.” Inside, Cal prayed her heart out, hoping Miss Lavinia would remember her own worries when Miss Bea Dot had the flu last spring. That flu was nothing like this one, but that didn’t stop Miss Lavinia from calling the doctor every day.

“Why didn’t you ask Ben to call earlier on your behalf?”

Penny put her hands on her hips. “Hmph!”

Was Miss Lavinia sick herself? Mr. Ben didn’t even call the doctor for his own wife.

“He fired me, Miss Lavinia.”

“What? Why did he do that?”

“Cause he Mr. Ben,” Penny said, her chest puffed up like she was ready for a fight.

“When Tilda got sick, I asked him could I stay home and tend her,” Cal explained. “He told me not to come back.”

“My Lord in heaven. That man . . .” Miss Lavinia shook her head again. She stepped into the hallway to the telephone. With her back to California and Penny, she picked up the phone and spoke into it. “Yes, 32A please. Yes, Dr. Arnold . . . Yes, I know it’s his home.”

Miss Lavinia eyed California with knotted eyebrows. She bit her lower lip. Then she turned away again. California could tell what she was thinking, that the operator would listen in on the phone call and know she was asking the doctor to see about a black woman.

“Hello, Dr. Arnold. This is Mrs. David Barksdale . . . No, I’m not sick. David’s fine too. I’m calling for Bea Dot’s girl, Cal . . . Yes, I know . . . But Dr. Washington is nowhere to be found, and Cal’s sister is having trouble breathing . . .”

Miss Lavinia listened for a long time and nodded every few seconds. Sometimes she said, “I see.”

He must be blessing her out
, Cal thought.

Miss Lavinia stiffened her back. “But what will I do if I don’t have Matilda to help me at my Women’s War Guild Monday?”

Bless her heart
. California’s eyes watered at Miss Lavinia’s lie. Tilda had never worked for her, but by asking the question, Miss Lavinia suggested the doctor’s call would be for her as much as for the sick woman. Dr. Arnold might be able to say no to Cal, but he’d have a harder time saying no to Miss Lavinia Barksdale.

“Yes, I’ll tell her.” Miss Lavinia nodded more. “Thank you, Doctor.” She hung up the earpiece and turned toward California, her face showing little promise.

“What he say?” Cal almost stepped up and clutched Miss Lavinia’s arm. Penny stood close by, wadding her apron in her hands.

“He’ll be there first thing in the morning.” Miss Lavinia sighed and stepped away from the phone and back into the kitchen.

California’s heart fell to her feet. She was so shocked she had to force herself to speak. “Tomorrow’s too late.”

Then the tears did come, and Penny took California by the shoulders.

Miss Lavinia touched California’s arm as well. “He knows Matilda needs help. It’s just that he’s already got a list of patients to see tonight, all with influenza. Apparently, it’s more serious than I’d realized. I’m lucky to have caught him at home. He was on his way out again.”

California didn’t feel lucky at all. She blew her nose in her kerchief again.

“He says fluid is building up in her lungs,” Miss Lavinia continued. “You should sit her up and pound on her back. Maybe she’ll bring some of it up.”

California nodded helplessly. How could Matilda cough if she couldn’t breathe?

“He says to keep her room well ventilated,” Miss Lavinia said. “He’ll be there as soon as he can tomorrow.”

California nodded again, feeling like she’d just killed her own sister.

“Penny, please wrap up some leftover dinner for Cal to take home,” Miss Lavinia told her maid.

Penny nodded and shuffled to the stove.

Miss Lavinia told California not to worry, that everything would be fine. How did she know that? Her sister wasn’t in bed gasping for breath. Penny returned with a cloth-covered basket and handed it to California, but Cal couldn’t say anything in return.

“Be sure to eat dinner,” Miss Lavinia said. “You’ll need your strength to nurse Matilda until the doctor arrives.”

California eyed the basket like it was a bucket of worms.

“It’s too dark and windy for you to walk home,” Miss Lavinia continued. “Penny, run out to the carriage house and ask Hap to drive Cal home in Mr. Barksdale’s motorcar.”

Penny wrapped her shawl over her head and ran outside. California gave Miss Lavinia a hoarse thank you. Then Miss Lavinia left to finish her supper.

California sat numbly the whole ride home, feeling as though God had abandoned her. When Hap pulled up to Matilda’s house, California got out without saying a word. Not until she was inside did she realize she’d left the dinner basket in the car.