Joy Takes Flight (27 page)

“I thought you already had.”

“I did, but he didn't answer. Maybe he didn't get it. Or maybe he wasn't ready to be a father. But Clint and I've been talking and we think he deserves another chance. It seems right to let him know how Teddy's doing. And let him know that if he wants, he can come and see him.” Lily picked up a biscuit, broke off a piece, and popped it in her mouth.

Kate set Lily's coffee on the table. “I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with him.”

“After talking to Clint about it . . . and since we're getting married”—a smile momentarily emerged on Lily's face—“it seems like the right thing to do.”

“Your mother told me about you and Clint. I'm happy for you. She said you're getting married right away.”

“Two days. There's no reason to wait. The minister is coming from Susitna Station.”

“I think it's wonderful. You two belong together.”

“I'd love it if you'd stand up with me.”

“Oh.” Kate knew it would mean putting off her trip, but how could she say no? “I'd be honored.”

“Thank you.” Lily took a drink of coffee. “I can barely wait to be Clint's wife. He's a wonderful man.”

“What should I wear?” Kate asked.

“It's just in Mama's living room. Do you have a dress you wear to church?”

“I do.”

“I'm sure that will be just right.” With a smile on her lips, Lily closed her eyes. “I can't imagine being married.” She wrapped her arms around her torso. “Two more days feels like forever.” She leaned toward Kate and said softly, “I just wish Paul were here. Do you know when he'll be back?”

“No. But I'm going to find out.”

P
aul pushed away from the table and carried his breakfast dishes to the counter. “That was good. Thank you, Carolyn.”

She set the dishes in the sink and turned on the water. “It's the least I can do.”

“You're here every day, working. Then you go home and take care of your own family.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “I'm glad to do it.”

Paul gave her a sideways hug. “What do you need me to do today?”

Carolyn added soap flakes to the water. “I thought you were working for Dr. Henley.”

“Not until this afternoon.”

Carolyn turned toward Paul and leaned a hip against the counter. “I've been thinking about Kate. Christmas is nearly here. I can't imagine if Charles and I had spent our first Christmas apart. And worse, Kate just lost a child.” Her tone somber, she added, “Maybe it's time you went home.”

“But—”

“You've got to stop listening to Audrey. I love her dearly, but she is a bit self-centered. Just because she wants you here doesn't mean you should stay. She will be fine without you.” She smiled tenderly. “Nothing would make me happier than having you close by, but I'm not so sure that's what's best for you . . . or for Kate.”

Paul was having trouble deciding what he ought to do. He missed Kate and knew that soon he had to close the distance between them. He was happy in San Francisco. Life here was stimulating. He enjoyed working with Walter, and having the first-rate facilities of St. Francis at his disposal was something every doctor wanted. Walter had promised him opportunities to take part in breakthrough surgeries. He didn't have any of that in Alaska. And leaving made him feel as if he were shirking his family duties, again. He had a chance to make up for some of the lost years.

“I wish I'd returned sooner . . . at least for Mother's sake.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I'm not sure what to do. While I was in Alaska, I felt at peace—I loved it, but here I have my family and my medical practice.”

“You were working as a doctor in Alaska. And you have family there too.” Carolyn's voice was sharp. “Or have you forgotten?” She turned the water faucets off.

“Of course I haven't. I think about Kate all the time.”

“Do you think that does her a bit of good? Speaking as a woman, I'd prefer to have my husband's arms around me more than his thoughts.”

“I asked her to come down for Christmas. And I was wondering how she'd feel about living here. We could buy a place outside the city. And she could still fly.”

Doubt touched Carolyn's brown eyes. “I understood why you left after Susan died. And I know you feel as if you deserted your family. But we were fine. You were the one who needed us. I'm sorry I didn't stay in touch more. I relied on Robert's reports too much.”

Paul leaned against the counter. “I knew you cared. I'm the one who withdrew.” An ache tightened in his throat. “You've all been so good to me. And Mom . . . I'm grateful I got to spend time with her.”

Carolyn rested a hand on his arm. “We are glad you're here, but do you know that when you talk about Alaska, something in your face changes—it comes to life, especially when you talk about the adventures you and Kate shared. Every time you mention her, it's like the sun comes out.”

“Really?” Paul liked that. “I wish she was here. I doubt she'll fly down this time of year. It's too dangerous even for Kate. If she's going to make it in time for Christmas, though, she's nearly out of time to get a steamer. I haven't been able to get through to her. I've called the airfield but no one answers. And she hasn't been at the house. She's probably working or out at the cabin.”

“I'll keep you both in my prayers.” Rolling up her sleeves, she said, “I'd better get these dishes taken care of.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Some of Mother's things still need going through. Her office hasn't been touched.”

“I can take care of that.”

“Can you go through her desk and sort out what needs to be saved and what needs to be thrown away? There are boxes in the garage.”

“Sure.” Paul gave Carolyn a hug before heading out of the house.

When he stepped inside the office, the richness of the room enveloped him in warmth. His mother had made it a sanctuary of sorts. All the wood furniture was rich mahogany and there was an elegant suite of chairs and a davenport upholstered with taupe and rose angora mohair. Two walls were filled from floor to ceiling by bookcases crowded with books of every kind. As a boy, Paul had spent hours lounging on the window seat reading.

He placed the boxes by the desk, then walked to the bookshelf and took down a copy of Dickens'
A Christmas Carol
. He blew dust from the cover and opened it, thumbing through the pages. One Christmas season he'd read the book to his nieces and nephews. He smiled at the memory of the children's visits and how they'd always insisted on his reading more of the story to them. He replaced the book on the shelf. Sorting through all of them would have to be a family task that they did together.

He walked to the window and opened heavy brocade curtains. Light flooded the room. He moved to the desk and sat in a leather chair. His mother's presence seemed to linger here. With a heavy sigh, he started with the top of the desk. He set a burnished gold lamp with a hand-painted glazed panel in one of two boxes, added a box of stationery, and then picked up his mother's fountain pen. She'd been meticulous in her writing, never leaving smudges, and she had a florid script.

He placed the pen alongside the stationery, then added a large dictionary to the box. Scrap paper and odds and ends were tossed into a box for disposal. He had to tug on the center drawer to get it open. It was tidy and had few contents—another pen, envelopes, a book of poetry, and a photograph of him and Susan. He gazed at the young couple staring back at him. He barely recognized himself, but Susan was just as he remembered, with her shiny blonde hair and sweet smile. Instead of the gut-wrenching ache he'd grown accustomed to, he felt the happiness they'd shared. He slid the picture into his breast pocket.

Paul tackled the topside drawer next. It had an assortment of items—business cards, a copy of the book
Jane Eyre
, more photos, and a variety of office supplies. He reached into the back of the drawer and his fingers found the corner of an envelope wedged between the drawer and the desk. He tugged and it came loose.

It was still sealed. Paul turned it over, expecting it to be something his mother had overlooked and never mailed. His eyes went to the return address and his stomach dropped. It was from Susan. His gaze moved to the postage date—two days before her death. Staring at the envelope, he leaned on the desk. His mother must have misplaced it. Otherwise she'd certainly have opened it.

Wondering why Susan had written to his mother, Paul slid the envelope into his inside vest pocket. His hand trembled. He wasn't ready to read it.

While Paul finished sorting through his mother's things, his mind lingered on the letter. When he'd finished, he carried out the box of trash. “Carolyn,” he called.

She appeared at the top of the stairs. “Have you finished?”

“I did. I left a box of usable items on the desk and I'll dump these things in the garbage. Then I'll be on my way.”

“Thank you for taking care of that. Make sure to get your lunch before you leave. It's on the kitchen counter.”

“Thank you.” Paul rested his hand on his chest. He could feel the letter in his shirt pocket. He headed for the kitchen, picked up his lunch pail, and headed for the front door. Maybe he should read it before he started work? No. He'd have to be on his way to the next patient and he'd rather have time to consider its contents. He lifted his coat off the stand in the entryway, pulled it on, and left the house.

He stopped at Walter's office and picked up a list of names and addresses of patients who needed to see a doctor that day, and then he set off. Walter made weekly visits to the first man on the list, Dale Brown. He was elderly and bedridden with arthritis. The house smelled of liniment and cigarettes. While Paul did his examination, Mr. Brown smoked and talked politics. He hated anything to do with the New Deal and with President Roosevelt.

Paul listened, encouraged him to do some exercises, gave him some pain medication, and moved on to the next home, which was located in a poor neighborhood. The house needed painting and the roof was covered with green fuzz. Paul stood in front of the porch steps, wondering if they were safe. They looked in need of repair. Seeing no other way to enter the house, he cautiously made his way up the rickety steps and knocked on the front door. A woman with mousy brown hair and pronounced cheekbones answered. She was excessively thin. “Yes? May I help you?”

“I'm Dr. Anderson. Are you Mrs. Erickson?”

“Yes.”

“I'm here to see your son John.”

“Where's Dr. Henley?”

“He's tied up at the hospital and asked me to help out today.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously.

“If you'd like, I can have Dr. Henley see John another day.”

“No. I want someone to look at him right away. He's not well.” She stepped aside and opened the door wider.

Paul moved into a front room, with wooden floors and very few furnishings. A boy lay on a threadbare davenport.

Mrs. Erickson moved to her son. “This is John. He's twelve.”

Paul would have guessed the lad to be closer to eight. “Mind if I sit?” John shook his head and Paul sat on the sofa beside him. “So, you haven't been feeling well lately.”

“No sir.”

“Can you describe the trouble?”

“Not sleeping too good.”

“And he's restless, won't hold still when he is asleep,” his mother said. “Sometimes his sheets are wet, from him sweating. I check him for fever, but he don't feel hot.”

Paul listened to the youngster's heart and lungs, nodding as Mrs. Erickson talked. “How about his appetite?”

“He barely eats. Says he's not hungry.”

Paul noticed the boy's stomach was distended. “He may have rickets. Does he get enough milk?” Paul knew the answer before Mrs. Erickson could respond.

“I do the best I can.” She tipped her chin up slightly. “His father's workin' the docks, but he don't make much.”

“I understand.” Paul wished there were a way to help. He let out a slow breath. “He's got to get plenty of good cow's milk. And some extra butter plus as many eggs as you can manage.” The creases in Mrs. Erickson's brow deepened. “And he needs lots of sunshine and fresh air.”

She nodded, but despair was in her eyes.

Poverty. I hate it.
Paul stood. “If you can do that, John should be all right.”

“I'll try.”

Paul closed his medical bag. He knew there wasn't enough money in this home for the kind of food the boy needed. He fished two ten-dollar bills from his wallet and held them out to her. The woman's eyes widened. “I want you to use this to get some of the food he needs.”

She accepted the gift and in a small voice said, “Thank you.”

“I'll tell Dr. Henley my findings. I'm sure he'll be back in another week or so to check on John.” He briefly rested a hand on the boy's head.

Mrs. Erickson clutched the money to her chest. “The Lord bless you.”

When Paul left, his mood was low. The money he'd given wouldn't go far. But at least there were doctors here to help. He made his way back to the car and climbed in. His thoughts went to Alaska and to his patients there. What were they doing without a doctor?

He had two more stops to make, but the letter in his pocket didn't want to be ignored any longer. Maybe it was a good time for lunch.

Paul parked along the edge of the beach. He opened his lunch pail. As usual, Carolyn had made sure he had plenty. He removed the waxed paper from a roast beef sandwich and took a bite. He wasn't very hungry so he chewed slowly. The letter was on his mind. He returned the sandwich to the pail, closed the lid, and stepped out of the car.

He gazed at the sandy beach, the wind whipping his hair. It was cold, but he didn't care, and he started down the shoreline, heading for a large chunk of driftwood. When he reached it, he sat down and gazed out at the wind-whipped bay. Whitecaps flecked the blue waters like small snow-covered mountain peaks.

Finally, he reached into his pocket and took out the envelope. Every nerve in his body vibrated. He stared at the date. Susan hadn't known she would die in only two days.

He slid a finger beneath the seal. It came up easily; time had eroded the adhesive. There were two pages. The wind grabbed at the paper and nearly ripped it from his hands. He turned his back to the blustering air and read. When he saw Susan's writing, his heart wrenched. Unlike his mother, Susan's script was simple and unadorned. And there were smudges on the page.

“My dearest Esther,” she began. “How I've missed you. I feel as if I've been locked away for months rather than weeks.”

She hadn't said a word to Paul about being frustrated at her condition, which confined her to the house and to rest. Susan had never been one to complain. Paul returned to the letter. She went on to share some of what had been going on at home and that, aside from a headache now and again and swelling in her legs and feet, she felt quite well and she thought Paul worried too much.

The final days of her life swept toward him from the past—days of worry and anticipation. They were about to become parents. He remembered how Susan often rested her hand on her rounded stomach and how she'd talk to their son as if he were already in her arms. He'd tried to convince her to spend the final weeks of her confinement in the hospital, but she'd refused.