The Heart Listens, page 43
“Don’t be an ass,” Robert said gruffly. “Stop stewing about that piddling little loan. And remember there’s more where that came from. I can overdecorate one Central Park duplex and send you enough money to keep you in style for a year in that godforsaken town!”
She smiled at him gratefully. In spite of his pretended sophistication, Robert was touched by her trouble. She knew he meant every word of his offer of help, no matter how flippantly he chose to phrase it.
Her last goodbye was to Tony, who held her gently and lovingly for a long moment. There was so much, and so little, between them. It was such a strange case of what might have been.
“Goodbye for now, Tony, dear. Try to be happy.”
“Take care of yourself,” he said. “And remember, we love you.”
Elizabeth awakened in the upper berth of the compartment. Her watch said seven o’clock. They were due in Union Station at eight-thirty that morning. It had been a tiring trip, with the change of trains in Chicago and the confinement of the compartment. A nice, cheerful porter had brought all their meals in. Charlene, of course, had spent the entire time in bed, sleeping a great deal, occasionally rousing to look at the bleak unfamiliar landscape as they sped across the country.
Elizabeth slipped out of bed and looked at it now. To her Eastern eyes it was like another planet. As the morning light took over, she could see a clear blue, cloudless sky and beyond the flat landscape, a glimpse of high plains. The countryside itself was barren and forbidding, dry and sandy, dotted with dead sage and yucca. The only vegetation was a few sparse trees along the creek beds. She recognized willows but the cottonwoods were unfamiliar to her. An occasional lonely-looking ranch house broke the monotony of the silent scene, with dismal windbreaks planted on the north and west sides. In the feed lots near the railroad tracks, Elizabeth could see cattle, their breath steaming in the high dry cold air. There seemed nothing welcoming about this approach through northeastern Colorado. She hoped that Denver would make her feel less like a stranger in a foreign land.
She dressed Charlene and then rang for the porter, ordering breakfast when he poked his beaming black face in the door.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Breakfast comin’ up! By the way, Miz Whitman, if you and the little lady look out there you’ll begin to see some mountains now. Most folks find it mighty impressive, first time they see ’em.”
The mountains, now faintly visible from their side of the train were, indeed, impressive. Fascinated by their majesty, Elizabeth could not tear her eyes away from the snow-topped peaks. Even as she and Charlene ate their breakfast, she continued to look at the strangely hypnotic land, observing its undulations and upward pitch to the foothills. Like many a traveler before her, she wondered how the pioneers had ever managed to cross this harsh, treeless, shrubless country. How had they reached the golden West, thwarted by this bleak countryside and challenged by the mountains that lay beyond it?
The mountains were more sharply in focus now, breathtaking in their unassailability. The train rushed over crossings, sped through towns so small that they flashed past almost unnoticed. Soon, whistling in triumph, the train slowed, edging its way haughtily through the outer industrial section of Denver, pulling up at last into the dimness of the station.
The sense of unfamiliarity was secondary, now, to the urgency of getting Charlene to National Jewish. A porter on the platform took their bags, led them through a circuitous route of tunnels and ramps to a taxi outside. Their first breath of Colorado’s dry, cold air almost seemed to burn their lungs with its sharpness, and the mile-high altitude of Denver made them gasp for breath. Despite the snow on the ground, though, it did not seem bitterly cold. They were to learn later that the dryness of the air was quite different from the wet, heavy hand of winter in New York. They would discover, too, that although Denver could be pounded by blizzards that dumped inches of snow on the city, all but mere traces of the white, powdery stuff usually were gone by noon of the following day.
The cab sped them to the hospital by way of East Colfax Avenue. Trying to control her nervousness, Elizabeth made idle talk with Charlene.
“Look, darling,” she said, “we’re going through a thriving community. It looks quite different from what we saw from the train, doesn’t it?”
It did, indeed. In 1948, Colfax Avenue was crowded with liquor and grocery stores, filling stations, an occasional movie house, and two or three grubby-looking nightclubs, and dry cleaners who advertised “uniforms done overnight.”
“All happened during the war,” the cab driver volunteered over his shoulder. “Lowry Field’s just over there a way. It was a big U. S. Army Air Force base, you know. The area just kind of grew up to take care of the soldiers and their families.”
Within minutes, they drew up in front of the hospital. The first thing Elizabeth saw was the sign that Stan Martin had told her about. Somehow it was comforting, a recognizable landmark that seemed to give reality to this otherwise unreal situation. Even more reassuring was the fact that when she approached the front desk and gave her name, the receptionist responded immediately with a welcome smile.
“Mrs. Whitman? Of course. Mr. Milford asked that he be notified as soon as you arrived. Just sit down right over there and I’ll call him.”
In seconds, Lance Milford appeared. He was young, about thirty-one or -two, Elizabeth judged, and he projected kindness and empathy.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply. “Dr. Abrams is anxious to meet you, too. You both got some pretty good advance press notices from Dr. Martin.” He crouched down so that his face was on the level with Charlene’s. “So this is our new friend,” he said. “Hi, Charlene.”
“This is Mr. Milford, honey,” Elizabeth said. “He works here.”
“Are you a doctor?” Charlene asked.
“No, I just help those important fellas. You know, Charlene, I came here just like you. Fighting the same bug. That was ten years ago. I lived in New York, too, just like you do.”
“Ten years ago!” Charlene looked frightened.
He hastened to reassure her. “Oh, they got me well in no time. The thing is, I liked it here so much that I applied for a job working in the hospital. It’s a terrific place, Charlene. You’re going to meet some wonderful people. We have lots of little boys and girls here, just about your age. What do you say we all go meet some of them?”
Elizabeth suspected they were getting special attention and was grateful for it.
“We came straight from the train,” she said. “May I leave my bags here for a while? Once Charlene is settled, I’ll go to see about an apartment I’ve arranged for. One you suggested–in Yates Court.”
“Perfect. Okay, Charlene, let’s go. We’re going to put you in a building with a funny name. It’s called Pisko.”
The area in which Charlene would live was on the second floor. There was a circular arrangement with six beds divided into two-bed cubbyholes with curtains between. It was spotless, bright, and, for what it was, reasonably cheerful. A trim young nurse came forward to greet them and Lance introduced her to Elizabeth and Charlene.
“This is one of our guardian angels,” he said. “Her name is Miss Riddle.”
The nurse’s eyes twinkled. “And I don’t have the answers,” she said teasingly. “So don’t let my name fool you, Charlene.”
For the first time, Charlene smiled. “Riddles aren’t any good unless they have answers,” she said.
“Hah!” the nurse said admiringly. “I’ve got a smart one here! You’d be surprised how many people miss the point of that joke. It’s become my own little private test for a sense of humor. You passed with flying colors!”
Elizabeth could have kissed her with gratitude. The ease with which Lance Milford and Miss Riddle handled these first terrifying moments filled her with assurance. It was not going to be easy, any of it. But thank God for the help of these relaxed, compassionate people.
“Now,” Miss Riddle said briskly, “how would you like to meet your roommate? She’s twelve. How old are you?”
“I’ll be twelve on the Fourth of July.”
“No fooling!” Miss Riddle looked impressed. “So you’re the reason they have parades and shoot off fireworks! I always wondered what all the fuss was about.”
The nurse ushered Charlene and Elizabeth to one of the two-bed cubicles. The occupant of the second bed was a broadly beaming little girl whose hair was caught with blue ribbons and whose skin was the color of polished ebony. For a second, Elizabeth caught her breath. Somehow she had not expected Charlene’s companion to be a Negro child. Not that it disturbed her. And she knew it would not seem unusual to Charlene. How lucky we lived in New York, Elizabeth thought, remembering that some of Charlene’s best friends at school were as black as this poor little bedridden thing. The children acknowledged the introductions shyly. Then Clara Jenkins looked at Elizabeth, two hundred years of cautiousness in her eyes.
Elizabeth took the child’s hand. “I’m so glad that Charlene has a new friend, Clara,” she said. “And such a pretty one.”
“Charlene’s pretty, too,” she said softly.
“Okay,” Miss Riddle announced. “Mutual admiration society is adjourned. We’re going to get you into bed, Miss Fourth of July.”
“Right,” Lance Milford said. “I’m sure Dr. Abrams will be in his office now, Mrs. Whitman. He’ll want to have a few words with you, and then we’ll inundate you with a thousand yards of hospital red tape.”
Charlene was busily getting into a hospital gown. “You won’t have to wear this unstylish thing very long,” Miss Riddle promised her. “It’s just the accepted uniform while we run a few routine check-out procedures. Then you can wear those pretty pajamas and robes your mother has tucked into your suitcase.”
“How do you know I have any?” Charlene asked. “We haven’t unpacked yet.”
“Want to bet a quarter that I’m wrong?”
Charlene looked at her appraisingly. Then she grinned. “Nope. You’re right. I’ve got a whole lot of nice new things. Mommy bought some, but most of them were presents from our friends.”
Elizabeth had a lump in her throat. Charlene was being so brave, making it easy for all of them. I am not prejudiced, Elizabeth told herself. She is an extraordinarily perceptive child.
“I’ll be back in a little while, darling. After I’ve met Dr. Abrams. He must be great if he’s such a good friend of our Dr. Martin.” She hoped she sounded as untroubled as she wanted to.
“I’ll vouch for that,” Miss Riddle said. “Every nurse in the hospital is secretly in love with him.”
Milford led her back to Daniel Abrams’ office. The doctor greeted her pleasantly and Elizabeth could see why all the nurses were devoted to him. He was in his early fifties with a shock of coal-black hair and deep brown eyes that looked as though they could identify with emotional as well as physical suffering.
He asked politely for Stan Martin and then got right down to business. “I’m sure you understand the nature of this disease, Mrs. Whitman. Dr. Martin tells me he’s explained pretty much to you what we can do for Charlene. I’ve studied the X rays from New York and she seems to have a light case and it’s been caught in time. We can be thankful for that. Of course, we’ll do many more X rays and tests here, but I doubt that our findings will be any different from the ones she’s already had. The only treatment we have now is rest. Complete bed rest at first. As she improves, we’ll let her get up for short periods. That’s the semiambulatory stage. When she becomes even better, she’ll be ambulatory and eventually she’ll be able to go with you for outside visits.”
“Perhaps it’s a foolish question, Doctor, but have you any idea how long it will be before she’s well?”
“No, Mrs. Whitman, I can’t give you an answer to that. It depends upon how she responds. Sometimes the germs even change composition, which alters the course of treatment. It’s a helluva disease, but we’re on the verge of licking it. One day there will be drugs available that will make this prolonged treatment of bed rest unnecessary. Unfortunately, we don’t have them yet. So we have to depend largely on the healing power of nature–which is a pretty frustrating thing for a so-called man of science to have to admit. However, we know it works. And in Charlene’s case, I don’t think you have to fear thoracic surgery or anything of a drastic nature. It will just take time and lots of patience. Keeping Charlene’s morale high will be an important part of the treatment. We can do a lot, but you can do most of all.”
“When will we know how she’s progressing?” Elizabeth asked.
“As I told you, we’ll be checking her constantly. But we can’t declare her cured until six direct smears and six direct cultures have been analyzed and pronounced negative. I must warn you, Mrs. Whitman, that you can’t expect overnight miracles. But I think you’re one of the lucky parents. At least you can feel sure that no matter how long it takes, barring unforeseen developments, your child will eventually be able to lead a full, healthy, normal life.”
She was grateful for his forthrightness. He was considerate but he didn’t try to raise false hopes about the rapidity of Charlene’s recovery. Nor did he alarm her, as so many doctors might have, about the threat of sudden serious developments.
“Thank you, Dr. Abrams. I know that Charlene is in wonderful hands. And she’s a strong child, mentally and emotionally. I know I have a lot to be thankful for. All of you here are so kind.”
“We’re doing what we want to do, Mrs. Whitman. All we’re waiting for is the day we can do more.”
Lance Milford was waiting for her outside of Abrams’ office.
“Terrific guy, isn’t he?”
“Extraordinary,” Elizabeth said. “You all are.”
“Buy you a cup of coffee before you go back to Charlene?”
“If you can spare the time, I’d like that.”
In the cafeteria, Lance began to talk easily. “What I told Charlene was true, you know. I had a pretty good job in New York by the time I was twenty-one. Just out of college and lucky enough to land a promising spot in an advertising agency. Then I got TB. The really bad version. They had to remove a lung. Funny how fate works,” he said. “All through college I’d kind of flirted with the idea of becoming a doctor, but my family didn’t have any money and it’s a long expensive grind, so I gave up the idea. Then, when I got here and these people saved my life, I realized two things. One was that for the sake of my health I should always live in this climate. And the second was that if I couldn’t be a doctor, I could help doctors. So, as I told Charlene, I asked for an office job and got it. I’ve done well and I love every minute of it. Even got married three years ago. You must meet Janie and our two-year-old, Nancy. They’re something extra that fate handed me. Jane’s a Denver girl. I would never have met her if I hadn’t decided to stay.” He paused. “I’ll bet you’re wondering why I’m telling you the story of my life when you’ve got so much on your mind.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, “I’m sure I know why. Your story is inspirational. It gives one hope that there really is a master plan.”
“I don’t know if it’s as dramatic as all that,” Lance said, “but I can imagine what you’re feeling right now. I thought maybe it would help to hear a horror story with a happy ending.”
“You were right. It does. I know that what Charlene has to overcome is nothing as bad as what you faced. It must have been terrible for you. Twenty-one. Just at the beginning of an adult life and a career, and suddenly you’re presented with the very real possibility of death. Thank God Charlene doesn’t have that to fear.”
“She’s a lucky kid,” he said. “And she has something I didn’t have: Somebody like you standing by.”
“Didn’t you have parents?”
“Just a widowed mother. Constantly hysterical. She was in such a state that she made me much worse, poor thing. She didn’t mean to, of course. But I spent so much time worrying about her that Dr. Abrams finally suggested she go back to New York. From then on, I got better. My recovery was being hindered by her lack of control. In Charlene’s case, her improvement will go all the faster because of your attitude.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, “but how can you be so sure? Right now I’m a bundle of helpless, quivering fright.”
“Probably so. But she’ll never know that. I’ve gotten pretty good at judging people these last few years, Mrs. Whitman. I saw how you behaved over in Pisko. Slow and easy. And, God bless you, you didn’t bat an eye when you saw Charlene’s roommate.”
“I don’t have the energy to waste on prejudice, Mr. Milford. There are too many real problems in this world.”
He nodded approvingly. “Now, let me tell you the most important thing. At the moment, while Charlene is in the complete bed-rest stage, you’ll be able to visit her twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday after 5 P.M. and from three to five o’clock on Sunday. It doesn’t sound like much, I know. But them’s orders.”
Elizabeth was disappointed but she accepted this piece of bad news without protest.
“If those are the rules, those are the rules. Anything else?”
“Just a million forms you’ll have to fill out. Lots of background information and that kind of thing. There are no charges here, you know, but what we give up in fees we take back in terms of your time. We need to know everything about Charlene and you and her whole family history. It’s like writing the story of your life. Want to get started?”
“Yes. And I can see Charlene again, before I leave, can’t I, Mr. Milford?”
“Of course. By the way, I wish you’d call me Lance.”
“Thanks. I’m Elizabeth.”
“Good enough. Here we go, Elizabeth. Get ready for writer’s cramp!”
Milford had not exaggerated. There did, indeed, seem to be an endless amount of information required. Elizabeth had no trouble answering the questions about her side of the family, even the painful admission that her father had died of tuberculosis. But when it came to Alan’s history, she was at a loss. It occurred to her that she knew surprisingly little about his family, and nothing at all of the medical history of his parents. Grimly she noted the cause of Alan’s death as “acute alcoholism” and added “possible paranoid complications.”
