Hidden Places (48 page)

The first winter Sam and I were married I sent a note to Aunt Peanut at the circus’ winter address in Georgia.

Dear Aunt Peanut,

I just wanted to let you know I’m alive and well and very happy.I’m married to a really nice man and I live in a beautiful house in the country. Tell Charlie and the Gambrini family and everyone else I said ‘‘Hi.’’

Love,
Eliza

I didn’t put a return address on it, and I mailed it from a town ten miles away from Deer Springs when I went there to see the doctor. I’d learned I was expecting Jimmy, and for some unknown reason Frank Wyatt had forbidden me to see Dr. Gilbert in Deer Springs.

Sam looked scared half to death when I told him he was going to be a father. ‘‘What’s the matter, Sam? Don’t you want kids?’’ I asked.

‘‘No...Idon’t know. I guess I never thought...No.’’

‘‘But why not? What are you afraid of?’’

He didn’t answer. The pain in Sam’s eyes was so sharp I ached for him. I wished that I loved him the way he loved me because maybe then I could take away all the sorrow he had stored up inside himself. Sam finally walked out of our bedroom and out into the night, and he was gone for a long, long time. He was real tender with me while I was pregnant, though, like he thought he might hurt the baby if he hugged me too hard.

When my time came, Frank made Sam drive all the way to the neighboring town in the middle of the night to fetch a doctor. Through all my long hours of labor I kept thinking about my own mama, about how she had abandoned me, and I realized that I was as scared about having this baby as Sam was. When the doctor finally laid little Jimmy in my arms I cried, overwhelmed by the measureless love I felt for him. Yet at the same time I shuddered in fear at the thought that I might hurt him, lie to him, maybe even abandon him like my mama had abandoned me. It was terrifying to love someone so very much.

‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Sam asked when he saw me weeping over Jimmy that first night.

‘‘I guess I’m scared, too,’’ I admitted. ‘‘Being a mother is hard for me because I grew up without one.’’

Sam sat down on the bed beside me, a puzzled look on his face. ‘‘But I thought you said your whole family died in the influenza epidemic?’’

He’d caught me in a lie! I panicked. ‘‘Um...no...That was my step-mother,’’ I said quickly. ‘‘And she was never much of a mother to me.’’ I needed to change the subject, fast. I lifted Jimmy and handed him to Sam before he could protest. ‘‘Here...you hold him.’’

Jimmy squirmed, then settled into his father’s strong arms. He was awake, and he looked up at Sam as if memorizing his face. Sam’s eyes filled with tears. ‘‘My goodness...my goodness...’’ he whispered. ‘‘He’s so small. And I don’t know how to be a good father. I’m so afraid I’ll...’’

I’d lived with Frank Wyatt long enough by then to understand why Sam was so scared. I thought of the advice Aunt Peanut had once given my father.

‘‘You don’t have to be scared, Sam,’’ I told him. ‘‘Just be the daddy you always wished you’d had. If you wished your daddy had tucked you into bed at night, then tuck little Jimmy in. If you wished your daddy had taken you fishing, then take him fishing. That’s all you have to do.’’

‘‘Really?’’ he whispered.

‘‘Yes. That’s all there is to it.’’

From the day the children were born, Sam loved each of them with his whole heart. He never said the words out loud, probably because he’d never heard them from his own father and didn’t know how, but I could see how much he loved them. If he lost patience with one of them he’d quietly walk away rather than lose his temper, and I admired him for that. He never once laid a hand on any of them in anger. When Becky Jean was born he just stared and stared at her with tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘‘A girl...a beautiful little girl!’’ he murmured. ‘‘She doesn’t look real, Eliza. She looks like...like a little angel laying there!’’

I felt the same love and fear that Sam did. I would go into my kids’ rooms at night and watch them sleep, marveling at the fact that my children were part of me, yet they weren’t. It terrified me to know how much they needed me, depended on me. I was so afraid that I’d disappoint them, maybe even fail them. Sometimes I’d remember how my daddy used to look at me with fear in his eyes and I wondered if it was for that very same reason.

Once, I came real close to telling Sam the truth about my past.

Jimmy had just turned four and Luke was two when I learned that a competitor’s circus was coming to the county fairgrounds. I was so excited to think that Sam and I could sit in the bleachers together watching the circus with our two boys—just like all the families I used to envy. I’d planned to wait until I was curled up beside Sam in bed at night, then tell him how this would all be a dream come true for me. But before I had a chance to confess, an advance man for the circus came through Deer Springs and knocked on our kitchen door just as we sat down to lunch.

‘‘Good afternoon, folks. I’m with the Gentry Brothers’ Circus and we’ll be performing over at the county fairgrounds next month. I’d like to offer some free passes for your entire family if you’ll let us post a bill on your barn out there.’’

Frank flew into a terrible rage, bellowing about how circus performers strutted around with hardly any clothes on, how they all lived such immoral lifestyles, and how disgraceful it was for Christian people to even consider attending a circus. He yelled so loud he made little Luke cry. I watched my father-in-law toss that poor man out on his ear and I knew that I could never breathe one word about growing up in the circus. Nor would my children ever get the chance to see one as long as their grandfather was alive.

My husband worked his entire life to please his father—an impossible task since Frank Wyatt was impossible to please. Sam never really did feel his father’s love or approval, even as he lay dying. And he never should have gotten sick in the first place.

It started out as just a simple cut on his foot—a nail or something that had poked through the worn-out sole of his boot and sliced into him. His foot hurt him, but he kept right on working, limping around the barn as he shoveled out manure and milked the cows.

‘‘Guess I need a new pair of boots,’’ he said that night, showing me the hole in his sole. I doctored the cut on his foot but neither one of us thought much about it. It was September, a busy time of year in the orchard, and Sam kept on limping around, wearing those same boots because there wasn’t any time to run into Deer Springs for a new pair.

A few days later he woke up with a low-grade fever. He complained of a stiff jaw and sore neck, and said he ached all over. We both thought he had the flu. I could tell Sam felt miserable, but he dragged himself outside to do a full day’s work, fever or no fever, because his father expected him to. He got worse and worse.

One night Sam’s moaning woke me up. His fever wasn’t all that high but he was sweating so much he’d soaked all the bed sheets. His heart raced a mile a minute.

‘‘Sam, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?’’

He couldn’t answer. The muscles in his neck and jaw went into such a horrible spasm that it distorted his face and froze his jaw. I leaped out of bed and began to dress. ‘‘I’m going for the doctor.’’

‘‘No...’’ he moaned.

‘‘Why not? Sam, I’m scared! What if...?’’ It terrified me to think that it might be lockjaw, but I didn’t want to say it out loud and upset Sam. ‘‘Listen, if I go get Dr. Gilbert in Deer Springs I can be back in half an hour.’’

‘‘My father...won’t allow...’’ he finally managed to say.

I didn’t know what to do. All my instincts urged me to go get help but every time I mentioned going for the doctor it seemed to upset Sam even more.

He was no better in the morning. As soon as I heard my father-in-law stirring I ran downstairs to confront him.

‘‘Where’s my breakfast?’’ Frank asked when he saw me. ‘‘And where’s Sam?’’

‘‘He can’t get out of bed.’’ My voice shook with fear. ‘‘He’s sick—terribly, horribly sick. He needs a doctor.’’

‘‘Sick! The cows have to be milked! And I need him in the orchard!’’ He glared at me as if Sam’s illness was all my fault.

‘‘He can’t work. Go upstairs and see for yourself.’’

Frank grunted in disgust as if I was a silly, hysterical woman, then turned away. ‘‘He’s a strong boy. He’ll be fine in a day or two.’’

‘‘He’s not fine!’’ I yelled. ‘‘Go look at him! You have to send for a doctor!’’

Frank’s eyes flashed in anger as he whirled around, wagging his finger in my face. ‘‘Don’t you
ever
tell me what to do!’’ He slammed the kitchen door on his way out.

I had my own chores to finish and meals to fix and kids to tend to, but every time I checked on Sam that day his condition was worse. The muscle spasms spread to his abdomen and legs and back, and they were so violent and so painful that his body went stiff as a board and his back arched clear off the bed. Sam was awake and alert—and in agony.

I watched for my father-in-law all afternoon, planning to confront him again the moment I saw him, but he stayed out in the orchard all day and didn’t come back to the house until suppertime. I would have loaded up the kids and gone for help long before I did but Frank had the team of horses with him, and I didn’t know how to drive the truck.

I waited until Frank said grace at supper time, then told him as calmly as I could, ‘‘Sam needs a doctor. I...Ithink he has lockjaw.’’

Frank reached for the mashed potatoes without even looking up at me. ‘‘I suppose you’re a medical expert now?’’

‘‘No...but it doesn’t take an expert to see how sick he is.’’ I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry but I couldn’t stop my tears. ‘‘Please, Mr. Wyatt, he’s in so much pain. I can’t stand to watch him suffering.’’

Frank continued to eat in silence.

‘‘Please,’’ I begged. ‘‘Please let me drive into town and fetch the doctor.’’

He raised his head and his voice. ‘‘You will not touch my truck or my horses! My son does not need a doctor!’’

I knew then what I had to do. As soon as I’d tucked my kids in bed that night, I quietly left the house through the front door and ran all the way into Deer Springs. I was so distraught, shaking from head to toe with exhaustion and rage and fear, that it took me several minutes to convince Dr. Gilbert that I wasn’t the one who needed medical care.

‘‘No, please, Dr. Gilbert. It’s my husband, Sam, who needs your help, not me.’’

‘‘Sam Wyatt?’’

‘‘Yes. I think he has lockjaw. I think he’s dying.
Please
come.’’

He asked me to describe Sam’s symptoms and I knew by the grim look on his face as I told him, that I had cause for concern. He opened his cupboard and began packing things into his medical bag as he questioned me.

‘‘Does Frank Wyatt know you’re here?’’ he asked me when he’d finished.

‘‘No. He refused to let me get help. I had to walk all the way here. He wouldn’t even go upstairs and see how sick Sam was.’’

Dr. Gilbert shook his head. His clamped lips and angry eyes told me that he was furious. ‘‘Frank may not let me through the door, you know.’’

‘‘You have to try, Dr. Gilbert. Please don’t let Sam die!’’ I was nearly hysterical.

He gripped my shoulders, and his firm hold reassured me. ‘‘I’ll do my best, Mrs. Wyatt. Listen, perhaps you should have some brandy before we go.’’

‘‘I’ll be fine. Just hurry.’’

It took no time at all to drive there in Dr. Gilbert’s car. I convinced him to park on the road so my father-in-law wouldn’t hear us, and we walked up the driveway in the dark. Frank’s bedroom was right off the kitchen, so I sneaked Dr. Gilbert in through the front door and hurried him up the stairs.

Sam looked even worse than when I’d left him. He turned to us as we came into the bedroom and I saw the panic in his eyes, then his back arched horribly. ‘‘Help me!’’ he slurred as his jaw locked in a grimace of pain.

Dr. Gilbert examined him gently, but the slightest touch sent Sam’s muscles into violent spasms. I stood beside the bed, wringing my hands, then nearly jumped out of my skin when I suddenly heard Frank’s booming voice behind me.

‘‘What are you doing in my house, Gilbert?’’

Dr. Gilbert slowly turned to face him. ‘‘I’m treating your son—’’

‘‘No, you’re not! We don’t need you here! Get out!’’

‘‘Frank, your son has tetanus,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘He’s very ill. I’m going to give him an injection of antitoxin and—’’

My scream interrupted him. Sam had started going into convulsions. His skin turned a horrible bluish gray as he struggled to breathe.

‘‘He’s having a seizure,’’ Dr. Gilbert said. ‘‘It’s cutting off his oxygen.’’ He grasped Sam’s shoulders to hold him down.

I’d never felt so scared or so helpless in my life. When the seizure finally ended, Dr. Gilbert quickly prepared a hypodermic needle.

‘‘I’m going to give you some tetanus antitoxin, Sam. Then something to help relax your muscles.’’

I glanced over my shoulder, worried that Frank would try to stop him, but my father-in-law had left the room.

Dr. Gilbert did everything he could for Sam that night. He even showed me how to make a poultice and apply it to the cut on Sam’s foot. But I could tell by the way the doctor gripped my shoulders again to steady me when it was time for him to leave, that he was just as worried about Sam as I was.