Marta's Legacy Collection (41 page)

Trip came in before she could leave orders that she didn’t want visitors. She hadn’t stopped crying since being checked into the hospital. When she saw him, she put out her hand. “Stay away from me.”

“What?”

“Get out of here, Trip.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

She held a sheet up over her mouth. “I think I have tuberculosis.”

He went white. Both of them knew a student nurse had died the year before. Two other bronchitis patients turned out to have active TB.

Trip kept coming. She grabbed the cord and pressed the button over and over. A nurse came running.

“Get him out of here. Now!”

“Hildie!”

Sobbing, pulling the sheet over her head, she turned away.

The nurse escorted Trip from the room, then came back. “Shouldn’t you wait until the test results come back before—?”

“And risk exposing someone? You should wear a mask! And keep people out of here!”

She didn’t have to ask the doctor what the X-rays showed. She could see it plainly on his face.

“We need to send fluid to the lab before we can be sure.”

Small comfort. He aspirated fluid from her infected lung and sent it to the lab, where it would be injected into a rat. The doctor ordered her to the contagion unit.

Trip came immediately. She refused to see him. He wrote a note and gave it to a nurse.

We’ve kissed a hundred times, Hildie. I’ve already been exposed! Let me come in and see you. Let me sit with you. Let me hold your hand. . . .

Crying, she insisted on plastic gloves and a mask before she wrote back to him.

I didn’t know I had TB! You cannot come in. Don’t ask me again. This is hard enough as it is. I love you. Go away!

She didn’t want to take any chances on infecting him or anyone else.

Hildie spent the next few weeks on the isolation ward, waiting for test results. Trip kept coming back. “You’re the most stubborn, willful woman I’ve ever met,” he called through the door.

The tests came back positive.

36

“We don’t know enough yet about tuberculosis.” The doctor looked apologetic. Several nurses had died over the last few years. Clearly he didn’t want to give false hope.

Hildemara knew she had little chance of survival with a history of pneumonia.

“I’ve ordered bed rest.”

She gave a bleak laugh. As if she hadn’t been in bed resting for weeks!

“Merritt doesn’t have a contagion ward dedicated to TB, so you will be transferred to a sanatorium. There are several from which to choose, but you’ll need to make your decision right away or the hospital administration will have to decide for you.”

Though Hildie had contracted tuberculosis while working, it still remained unsettled whether Merritt Hospital administration would pay for her care. Not wanting to accumulate debt, she chose the least expensive facility, Arroyo del Valle, a county sanatorium in the Livermore hills. They offered financial aid. If she survived, she would need it. She found herself wondering who would have to pay the bills if she died. Citizens, of course. Taxes. She felt ashamed.

Trip protested. “There’s a better hospital right here in the Bay Area.” He stood in the hallway, speaking to her through the barely open door.

She didn’t want to tell him her reasons. Why waste money if she wasn’t going to live anyway? “I’ll do better out in the country with space and fresh air around me.”

“I’m going to call Rev. Mathias. He can perform the wedding right here in the hospital. Jones would come.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“You know why not. There’s no cure, Trip.”

“I’m praying for you. I’ve got the whole church praying for you. My folks are praying. Their church is praying. Your mother, Bernie, Elizabeth . . .”

“Stop it, Trip!” Every breath hurt. Her heart ached even more. She panted for a moment until she had breath to speak. “What if it’s not God’s will?”

He pushed the door open and came in. “You’re giving up. Don’t you dare give up!”

A nurse appeared almost immediately. “You can’t be in here!”

“I’ll go for now, Hildie, but I won’t go far.” When the nurse took him by the arm, he jerked free. “Give me a minute!” He set the nurse aside and walked over to the bed, grabbing Hildemara by the wrists as she held the bedcovers over her mouth. “I love you, Hildie. Nothing is ever going to change that. In sickness and in health. I swear to you before God and this witness.” He jerked his head back toward the nurse calling down the hall for security. “As long as we both shall live.” He caressed her wrists before he let go of her. Two men appeared in the corridor. He raised his hands. “I’m going.”

“To the showers first,” one informed him.

Hildemara wondered if TB would be as painful a death as cancer, or if she’d die of a broken heart first.

Hildemara’s first letter at Arroyo came from Mama. Only one line.

I’ll come down as soon as the grape harvest is over. You get better.

Just like Mama to give an order.

Several other nurses had been sent to Arroyo. Everyone got along. Hildie supposed it came from having so much in common with one another. They talked about nursing, families, friends, doctors, cases they had worked. They played games, read books, spent time outside in the sunshine, and slept. To anyone else, it probably would have sounded like a vacation.

The fluid extractions felt like slow torture. She suffered from night sweats and high fevers. After weeks of rest, she still felt weak. Frustration and grief increased her depression as time passed and she felt no improvement.

Trip came to visit. She gave up trying to make him stay away.

Her roommate, Ilea, also a nurse, shared her mother’s delicious homemade fried chicken, potato salad, and chocolate chip cookies with Hildie and anyone else who came to visit. Her fiancé came often. Several patients had husbands; a few had children. One with kids died a week after Hildie came to the hospital. Not all the boyfriends and husbands proved as faithful as Trip. Some never came.

Mama wrote again.

I’ll come down as soon as the almonds have been sold.

Hildie wrote back.

Don’t feel you need to come. It is a long drive, and I’m not much company.

A week later, Mama showed up without warning.

Hildemara glanced up in surprise and saw Mama standing a few feet away. “Mama?”

She had that look on her face that meant trouble. “You’re my daughter. Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

Hildie coughed into a handkerchief. Mama sat slowly, watching her, expressionless. When the spasm finally stopped, Hildemara leaned back, feeling drained. “Sorry.” She saw the flash of something in Mama’s eyes. “Sorry I said sorry.” She offered a weak smile.

Mama had brought gifts. Cloe sent a beautiful lace-trimmed nightgown and bathrobe stylish and expensive enough for a Hollywood movie star. She had tucked a note in the folds.

This was meant for your wedding night. I don’t think Trip will mind if you wear it now.

Cloe had about as much hope as Hildemara.

Rikka had sent pictures: Cloe at the sewing machine, Mama in the driver’s seat of her Model T, Bernie grafting a tree, Elizabeth in the vegetable garden, Papa standing beneath the blooming almond trees, arms outspread, looking up. She had even drawn one of Hildie sitting in the branches of the chinaberry tree, leaning back against the trunk, wearing a
Mona Lisa
smile. The last was a caricature self-portrait of a girl in an artist’s smock drawing a naked man who looked remarkably like Melvin. Hildie laughed and then coughed again, longer this time.

Mama had crocheted a pink lap blanket. Hildemara smoothed it over her legs. “It’s beautiful. Thank you for coming all this way to see me.”

“You didn’t think I would, did you?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t expect it.”

Mama looked off toward the rolling hills and oak trees. “It’s nice and peaceful here.”

“Yes.”
A good place to die.
Sometimes she prayed God would take her. Trip could move on with his life. She wouldn’t feel like she lived in the bottom of a well. Papa said once that death was opening a door into heaven.

They talked about the ranch. Bernie and Elizabeth still hoped for a baby. Hildemara didn’t want to take that hope away and tell Mama it wasn’t likely to happen.

Mama talked about Papa and how he loved Hildie. They talked about Cloe and the movie stars she had met. Cloe liked to drop names like Errol Flynn, Olivia de Havilland, Bette Davis, Tyrone Power, Alice Faye. She had finally snagged her dream job and made costumes for the movies. She met many stars at pre- and postproduction parties.

Other patients came outside, greeted Hildemara, met Mama, talked awhile, and moved off to rest in the sunshine. “You’ve made some nice friends, Hildemara.”

“We try to hold one another up.”

“And Trip?”

“He comes once a week, when he’s not in class or on duty. He still needs a few hours before he can graduate from Cal. Some of his units didn’t transfer from Colorado. As soon as he finishes school, he’s taking on more hours at the hospital. He can’t afford medical school yet.”

Mama relaxed in her chair, mouth softening. She smoothed the wrinkles from her cotton flower-print dress and folded her hands. “Good. All you have to do now is get well.”

“That’s not up to me.”

Her eyes flared. “Yes. It is.”

Hildemara didn’t try to argue. She knew more about tuberculosis than Mama could ever guess. Why tell her what it did to a person’s lungs? It was enough that Hildie didn’t have hope. Why strip Mama of hers?

Troubled, Mama pushed herself up. “Well, as much as I hate to say it, I’d better get going. It’s a long drive back to Murietta.” Hildemara drew the lap blanket aside and started to stand. “No, Hildemara Rose. You sit right there and enjoy the sunshine.” Stepping back, Mama looped her knitted sweater over her arm and picked up her worn white purse. “Before I go, I’ve got something to say to you.” She leaned down and grasped Hildemara’s chin. “Find the guts to fight, and hang on tight to life!”

Hildemara jerked her chin away and glared at her through tears. “I’m doing my best.”

Mama straightened, her expression disdainful, mocking. “Really? Not from what I can see. You’ve been sitting here for the past two hours feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t have to say anything. I can see it written all over your face. You’ve given up!” She shook her head. “I never thought any of my children would turn out to be cowards, but here you are giving in. Just like—” She pressed her lips together. “Why waste my breath?”

Hurt, furious, Hildemara pushed herself out of the chair. “Thanks so much for your compassion, Mama. Now, get out of here.” Heart pounding, she watched her mother walk away. Mama looked back once, a smirk on her face.

Blood coursed through Hildie’s veins for the first time in weeks. She sat again, shaking, fists in her lap. Bundling up the pink lap robe, she threw it in the dirt.

The doctor checked her that afternoon. “You have some color back, Miss Waltert. I think you’re turning a corner.”

Dear Rosie,

I went to Arroyo del Valle to see Hildemara Rose. She had Mama’s pallor and the deep shadows under her eyes. I could see no life in them when I first arrived. It terrified me. She didn’t seem to care whether she lives or dies.

I wanted to shake her. Instead, I called her a coward. Though it broke my heart, I mocked and belittled her. Thank God she got good and mad. Her eyes spit fire at me and I wanted to laugh with joy. Better she hate me for a while than give up on life and be put in an early grave. She was trying to get up when I walked away. She barely had strength enough for that, but at least there was color in her cheeks. I hope that fire burns brighter each day.

Though her condition improved, Hildemara had to fight the constant tug of depression at how many months passed. Several patients died. Hildemara focused on the number who improved or celebrated remission. Trip wrote daily, but letters were a poor substitute for kisses or an embrace.

As soon as you’re out of that prison, we’re getting married.

She started having dreams that made her awaken in a sweat, but not the kind brought on by TB. She didn’t argue with him anymore.