Stardust A Novel (26 page)
H
ugh Salazar looked over O’Dell’s life insurance policy with Fiona’s name as beneficiary. I’d already explained to him and Aunt Cora, who I’d invited for moral support and because of her involvement in the March of Dimes, what I was considering—taking the baby until the family came or suitable arrangements could be made.
Blessedly, neither one of them lit into me or told me I’d gone off my rocker. Mr. Salazar looked over his glasses. “There’s no reason not to submit this. It’s bought and paid for, and the money may be needed to ensure she gets good medical treatment.”
Aunt Cora sat at the edge of her seat, ankles crossed. “The NFIP covers the cost of many polio patients. No one is turned away who’s in need.”
When Mr. Salazar and I both gave her a questioning look, she explained. “It’s the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis. Fiona will get the best treatment available; that’s what the foundation ensures.”
I kept my hands in my lap, determined to be sensible at all times. “Is it possible to set up a trust fund for the children? Something to be used by them in the future?”
Aunt Cora nodded. “It might be an incentive for the relatives to come and get them if it meant taking the children would be a hardship.”
Mr. Salazar folded the document. “I’ll look into it. Georgia, it’s generous of you to want to take the infant. You don’t fancy latching on to the money yourself?”
His tone had reverted to the one I was all too familiar with—patronizing, as if my motives weren’t pure. I kept my voice even. “Not at all.”
“I know your business hasn’t been what you expected—”
“I’m getting by. I have the life insurance O’Dell left, and I’m still expecting the house on Crockett to sell. But that’s not the point. I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t trust your advice. I need that… and your blessing, if you must know. I consider keeping the children a temporary situation at best.”
He wished me well and told Aunt Cora she got better looking every day.
Old coot.
Some things never changed.
On the trip to Tyler, I tried to prepare Bonnie for seeing her mother. She ignored me and bounced in her seat, chattering like we were going to the circus.
“Mommy said we’re going to call the baby Willie. I have a brother, right?”
“Yes, and Willie’s a good name.”
“That’s what Uncle Mitch says.”
“You have an uncle named Mitch?”
“Yes. And Aunt Eyes.”
“Aunt Eyes? Are you sure?”
Bonnie blossomed, more animated than I’d ever seen her. But who in the world was Aunt Eyes?
“Aunt Eyes says I’m funny.”
“Was this when you went to the Ozarks and saw your aunt Teddy?”
“Nope. It was yesterday.”
“We were at home at the Stardust all day yesterday.”
“The yesterday before Momma got sick.”
My hands gripped the steering wheel. We put out pleas all over the map for relatives when, right here, Bonnie was simply brimming with information. Not that it made sense, but it gave me hope that, with encouragement, we could fit the puzzle pieces together.
“Where did Aunt Eyes live?”
“In town. Not like Aunt Teddy. She lives with the chickens and pigs.”
“On a farm?”
“Old MacDonald.” She put her feet on the dash, then leaned over and rubbed the shiny patent leather of her new shoes. “Do you think Momma will like my shoes?”
“Of course.” The moment to find out more was gone, and as the Tyler hospital loomed before me, I realized I’d not told Bonnie half of the things I intended.
As we stood at the reception desk, Bonnie clutched the diaper bag we’d packed with things for the baby—a sky-blue outfit with a sailor collar, diapers, a receiving blanket. In the car I had a cushioned basket for the ride home.
Back at the Stardust, the portable crib normally available to customers stood ready. Ludi had made it her personal mission to organize the layette Mary Frances and I purchased at the Mercantile.
I explained to the lady at reception who we were and that I had an appointment with the legal department. Hugh Salazar had prepared a document stating I would become the temporary guardian and outlined the conditions for the discharge of the baby to my care. Even though he had his unsavory moments, Cora’s attorney and now mine, I supposed, had been thorough in making the arrangements with the hospital.
Bonnie danced around and tugged on my skirt. “Please, can we go see my mommy first?”
“We have to do this first so they can get your brother ready to go.”
“I want to see my mommy.”
The receptionist ushered us into the administrator’s office, where a woman with wire glasses looked over the papers, signed them, and had me do likewise. Her assistant witnessed the signatures and notarized them. We were free to pick up the baby. The assistant offered to escort us to the nursery on the second floor, but I asked her to meet us there in thirty minutes, because Bonnie wanted to see her mother first.
Although I had braced myself for being uncomfortable when we went to see Fiona, my palms sweated and the collar of my dress made my neck itch. I pushed the elevator button and, when the doors opened, told the attendant we wanted to go to the respiratory ward on the third floor.
When the elevator jerked to a stop, my heart jumped to my throat. I reminded myself this was for Bonnie, and I would not let my distaste for Fiona and O’Dell’s affair affect me. The uniformed attendant opened the door and wished us a pleasant visit. When we stepped out, we were met by a cacophony of clatters and hissing sounds, thumps and screams. The smell was distinct. Rubbing alcohol and body waste. The scent of ammonia burned my nostrils, and I wanted to run back in the elevator and return the way we’d come. But it was too late.
The elevator doors groaned shut behind me, having spit us out into an open area with a U-shaped desk, a work area behind that, and two long rows of doors on either side. These, I assumed, led to the patient rooms. Or ward, as the receptionist had said. If the nurses’ workstation smelled this horrible, I could only imagine what it would be like in Fiona’s room.
A young nurse with brassy blond hair pulled under a batwing nursing cap greeted us. I told her who I was and that we were there to see Fiona Callahan. “This is her daughter, Bonnie.”
“Oh, I’m so thrilled you’ve come. She’s been so lonely and depressed. That’s the worst for the people here. The isolation from the world, not being able to see their families. Some can’t even turn their heads, and none can sit up.” She smiled at Bonnie. “Are you ready?”
A momentary panic seized me. “Do you think she should? She’s rather young…”
“It’s up to you. The patients on this ward are stable… and safe.”
That sounded good, but I just hoped it wasn’t too traumatic for Bonnie.
We followed the nurse onto the ward. A half-dozen iron lungs filled the room. Hisses and swooshing noises came from the tank-shaped machines affixed to metal stands, and I had the feeling I was in a boiler room of some kind, a factory. Only here the products were human. One of the machines was white, another one dull green, and several mustard yellow. They all had portholes on the side and viewing windows above those. The patients’ heads protruded from one end, giving them the appearance of being separated from the bodies. Bonnie gripped my hand as the nurse led us to one of the mustard ones near the back of the room.
“Mrs. Callahan, you have visitors.” The nurse didn’t direct her voice at the head protruding from the machine, but at a mirror attached to the top edge of the unit. She motioned for us to stand, as she did, at the end.
It felt awkward, but at the same time gave me the opportunity to distance myself from the cold, fierce metal encasing Fiona’s body. My own underarms ran with perspiration, my breaths jagged as though they were trying to keep rhythm with all the respirators in the room.
“Hello, Fiona. I’ve brought Bonnie to see you. Can you see her?” The calm in my voice surprised me, and I was glad I hadn’t come out sounding like a Martian, surrounded as we were by the alien sounds.
Pale eyebrows furrowed above Fiona’s dull amber eyes.
I moved Bonnie into better alignment. Fiona’s eyes widened, becoming moist at once. The muscles of her face twitched, lips moving, and I thought she might be trying to pucker them for a kiss. A rubber collar cradled her neck, but a metal device in the center of her throat looked uncomfortable and menacing. I knew it was necessary, though, to keep her airway open. To keep her from drowning in her own spit, as the sheriff had said.
Bonnie’s eyes darted from the mirror to the iron lung, back to her mother. She’d not spoken since we entered the ward, yet she didn’t appear afraid, only curious. Now, she looked at the nurse. “Can I touch her?”
“Certainly. Better yet, let me get you a stool to stand on. We have other children about your size who come to visit.”
The step stool brought Bonnie to a more approachable position. She leaned in and kissed Fiona’s cheek. “I say my prayers every night, and Avril and me play dolls. Rosey is bossy and tries to make me learn my numbers, but sometimes she’s nice.”
Her small, thin fingers smoothed Fiona’s hair. “Don’t cry, Mommy. You have to be brave so you can get well.”
Honestly, Bonnie acted like it was the most natural thing in the world to be talking to her mother in an iron lung. While she chatted, I let my eyes wander to the other patients.
Their total helplessness chafed my insides. The rhythm of the machines, while offbeat and disturbing, provided life-giving support. My own circumstances and inconvenience seemed small in comparison. One of the iron lungs had three portholes per side instead of four as Fiona’s did. I chewed my lower lip. A young girl with long dark hair occupied it. A child like my Rosey. Avril. Bonnie. My breath left me.
Thank God for Aunt Cora and the others who dedicated themselves to helping. My admiration for Aunt Cora grew three sizes in that moment.
Bonnie leaned over Fiona again, a twist of her mother’s hair curled in her fingers. “I love you, Mommy.” She hopped off the stool and looked at me. “I’m ready to go now.”
I stepped where Fiona could see me in the mirror. “We’re all praying you get better soon. Bonnie’s been an angel, but she misses you. We’ve tried to locate your family—”
Fiona’s eyes widened, then blinked rapidly like she was trying to tell me something. “You have someone in Arkansas? Is that right?”
More blinks, but I couldn’t tell if it was
yes
or
no
.
“Blink once for yes, two for no. You have family in Arkansas?”
One blink.
“Do you have other family?”
A puzzled look. No blinks, but she formed an O with her mouth.
I took a chance. “O’Dell?”
One blink.
“You were coming to find O’Dell?”
One blink.
“There was an accident. O’Dell was… hurt.” The painful look on her face and her fragile condition stopped me from telling her the truth. “You have to work on getting well, okay?” She closed her eyes. Whether to shut me out or because she was too tired to keep them open, I didn’t know.
Bonnie took my hand, her grasp firm as we left the ward, leaving behind the swooshes and clatters, the smell of sickness.
Too late I realized I’d not told Fiona who I was or how I knew about O’Dell. Nor had I asked permission to send Bonnie to Arkansas. I wasn’t even sure I could bear to see her go.
T
he nurse, a looming woman with steel-gray hair and eyes that matched, took the things we’d brought to dress the baby. When she’d finished, she handed him to me as the administrative assistant looked on.
Déjà vu flashed before me, a lump growing in my throat. The infant looked exactly as I remembered Avril. Same silky black hair. Same quivering chin with the dimple in the middle. Fighting back tears, I held the baby so Bonnie could see. She stood on tiptoe, her pale gold eyes locked on her brother, and reached to touch the blanket that swaddled him.
“Can we call him Willie?”
“If that’s the name your mom picked out, then that’s what we’ll call him.”