Main Street #1: Welcome to Camden Falls (8 page)

Still … she couldn’t help taking a look around for the doors. There should be one on the left (when she was facing the backyard) leading to the Malones’, and one on the right leading to Olivia’s. Flora pushed aside trunks and boxes and baskets and Christmas decorations. She felt along beams in the walls (pricking the palm of her hand on a splinter as she did so). She pushed at knotholes, hoping to find hidden buttons. She tried to remember all of Nancy Drew’s detecting tricks. But after half an hour, she had neither seen nor felt anything resembling a door, hidden or otherwise.

Flora sat down with a little plop on the rough wooden floor. Next to her was a carton labeled
SWEATERS
. Beside that was one labeled
MOTHER
’
S DISHES
.

“Boring,” said Flora aloud.

And then she noticed another carton, a smaller one. It appeared to be older than the others, and it wasn’t labeled. Flora got to her knees. She raised the flaps of the carton. Inside was a jumble of papers and photos and albums. Some of the papers were so old they were crumbling.

Flora lifted the pile out of the box and carried it into the middle of the attic. She sat down directly under the lightbulb, the papers in her lap. On the top of the pile were three ancient postcards, all addressed to someone named Elisabeth Buestein, and all written in a foreign language that Flora guessed was German. One of the cards was dated 4.7.97, and Flora realized that 97 meant 1897.

“Wow,” she said softly.

The next piece of paper was a letter written in English and dated March 22, 1927. It was from the United States Veterans Bureau in Washington and was addressed to a Mrs. Dorothy Matthews. The letter informed Mrs. Matthews that as the dependent of a deceased veteran (of World War I, Flora thought) she was entitled to a claim of $469.75, which would NOT be paid in one lump sum, but in ten (10) installments.

“That’s it?” said Flora. “Her husband’s dead and she gets four hundred and seventy dollars? My stars.”

Flora set aside the letter and continued her search. She found a six-page typewritten document titled “A HISTORY OF RICHARD R. DAVIS, MAN OF ACTION, by his daughter, Adelaide Davis Rhinehart.” On the second page was a description of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake: “About 6
AM
on April 6
^th
they were jarred by the terrible earthquake. He ran to the window to see the chimneys fall, cracks open in the streets, people running from the buildings. He called to Grace to come quickly. She ran to the window at the moment that the ceiling crashed onto their bed. It would have killed her if she hadn’t jumped out in the nick of time.”

“Wow,” said Flora again, and she read the entire account before turning back to the box. She came to a tattered blue album with fancy gold lettering reading “My School-Days Memory Book,” the first page inscribed “From Aunt Adelaide Davis to Sarah Matthews, Feb. 3, 1926.” Included in the memory book, among other things, were cheers (
Hobble, gobble, razzle, dazzle, hokey, pokey, bah! A 9’s, A 9’s. Rah! Rah! Rah!
), autographs (
Dear Sarah, I call you “hinges” because you’re something to “adore.” As always, Frank
), and a list of graduation gifts received by Sarah, which included a Parker pen and pencil set, a pair of tan stockings, a pair of white stockings, a white silk slip, a bunch of sweet peas, and the memory book itself.

Flora, smiling now, continued searching through the box. Here was a War Mothers and Widows Official Certificate of Identification. Here was a marriage license, a United States Naval Reserve (Inactive) identification card, a photo of a smiling woman that had been sloppily cut from a larger photo (a pair of chubby baby hands reached out to the woman from the left edge of the picture), and here was a letter to Theodore Davis from President Harry S. Truman himself.

Flora turned back to the School-Days Memory Book. She didn’t know who Sarah Matthews was, but she liked this item the best. She settled down to read it, leaning against a tattered steamer trunk, and thinking, sometimes, of her mother. She thought that her mother must have liked the attic, too. It was quiet, almost silent, although dim and a bit dusty, and she could imagine her mother sitting up here. Maybe her mother had come here when she needed to escape from her little sister, or when she was at odds with Min. Maybe she even looked through the School-Days Memory Book. Flora ran her hands over the pages, pages that her mother might once have turned. And she now understood that here in her new home, her Camden Falls roots could be revealed to her.

On an afternoon toward the end of July, when the sultry weather had cleared, the air was cool and clean and smelled of roses and iris, and the last of the bridal veil petals clung to the sidewalks, Min closed the door to Needle and Thread and locked it carefully. “There,” she said. “Another day.”

“And a good job well done,” added Ruby, which was something she had heard Min say.

“Yes, a good job well done,” repeated Min.

Another workweek had ended. It was Saturday, and Liz and Rick would manage the store the next afternoon. Gigi had left moments earlier. Now the locking-up had been done, and ahead of Min and Flora and Ruby stretched Saturday evening and all day Sunday.

“What shall we do tonight?” said Min.

“Could we get pizza for supper?” asked Ruby as they passed the window of College Pizza.

“I don’t see why not,” replied Min, and in they went to order a large pizza and a salad.

Later, they carried their supper home, Flora bearing the salad, Min carrying the pizza, and Ruby holding tight to Min’s purse. They crossed Aiken Avenue, passed the first three Row Houses, and turned up their front walk.

“No one in sight,” commented Flora.

“Everyone’s probably out in their backyards,” said Min. She was about to add that this was a perfect night for barbecuing when the toe of her shoe caught on the top step of the stoop and she stumbled and fell forward onto the granite. The pizza crashed against the front door, then dropped to the stoop, the box lid springing open.

Min let out a cry.

“Min!” exclaimed Flora, and in her surprise she dropped the salad, which spilled across the top step.

Ruby gasped. “Are you okay?” she asked her grandmother.

Min sat up. She was cradling her left wrist in her right arm. “I — I think so. No. I don’t know. My wrist —”

Flora plopped onto the step next to her grandmother.

“You’re sitting in lettuce!” shrieked Ruby.

“I don’t care.” Flora looked at Min’s wrist. “Can you move it?” she asked.

Min slowly bent her wrist backward, then forward. “Yes. But it hurts.”

“A lot?” asked Ruby.

“Quite a bit.”

Ruby and Flora peered at Min’s wrist.

“It looks all right,” said Flora.

“But it feels funny,” said Min. “And, oh dear, our supper is ruined.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Ruby. “I think we have hot dogs in the fridge. We can have hot dogs tonight.”

“And I can make a fresh salad,” said Flora. “Come on. Let me help you up.”

Flora took charge. In no time, she had settled Min in the living room and cleaned up the front stoop. Then she and Ruby made supper.

“Do you think you can eat, Min?” asked Ruby.

“Yes. If I can eat one-handed.”

“You really can’t use your left hand?”

Min tried switching her hot dog from her right hand to her left. She winced. “No. It hurts too much.”

“I think you should go to the doctor,” said Flora.

“The office is closed,” replied Min. “It’s Saturday night. Besides, look — my wrist isn’t swollen or black and blue.”

But by bedtime, her wrist
was
swollen. And she couldn’t move it.

“That’s it,” said Flora. “We have to go to the hospital.”

“How are we going to get there?” asked Ruby. “I don’t think it’s safe for Min to drive with just one hand.”

“I’ll call an ambulance.”

“You will do no such thing,” said Min.

“Then what should we do?” asked Flora. “You have to go, Min.”

Her grandmother sighed. “All right. Call the Walters. Maybe one of them can drive me to the hospital.”

Flora dialed Olivia’s number. “It’s their machine,” she said a moment later. “Should I leave a message?”

“No,” replied Min. “Hang up, honey. Let’s see. Why don’t you call Dr. Malone?”

Flora dialed the Malones’ number. No answer. And there was no answer at the Morrises’ house or the Fongs’.

Min let out another huge sigh. “All right. Try the Edwardses, and if they aren’t home …”

“If they aren’t home, I’ll call Gigi,” said Flora confidently.

At the Edwardses’ house, Robby was sulking in front of the television.
Shrek
was playing, but Robby wasn’t paying attention, and every so often he would call out, “I want to go to camp!”

Mr. Edwards was in the next room, trying to work. Finally, he stood up, set his papers aside, crossed into the den, and sat with Robby on the couch. “I’m sorry,” he said to his son. “I know you wanted to go to camp. But the camp closed.”

“But
why
? I want to go swimming. I want arts and crafts —”

“I know,” said his father again. “I know all these things. I understand.”

Mr. Edwards tried to think about how to explain this turn of events to his son. Over the last few weeks, he and Mrs. Edwards had tried many times to make Robby understand that the camp had suddenly been discontinued, and that it had been too late in the summer to find another program for him. Robby refused to understand. He was mad, he was sad, he was frustrated, and he was at loose ends. Furthermore, his parents, both of whom had jobs, were in a bind. What were they to do for the rest of the summer? They’d been working at home more often than usual, and they had called on every sitter they could think of, but this did not solve the problem. None of the Edwardses was happy at the moment.

When the phone rang, Mr. Edwards answered it as Robby jumped up and down in front of the television, flapping his hands and shouting, “I wanted to answer it! I wanted to answer it!”

“Mr. Edwards, this is Flora Northrop,” said Flora, who then explained what had happened that evening. “So do you think you could drive us to the hospital?” she asked finally.

“Oh, boy,” said Mr. Edwards, glancing at his son. “Yes, of course. But Robby will have to come with us, and he’s terrified of hospitals. My wife is working late tonight.…” His voice trailed off. “Listen, I’ll call Mrs. Edwards. Maybe she can meet us at the hospital later. I’ll be in front of your house in ten minutes, okay? Don’t worry, Flora. Everything will be all right.”

And it was. Sort of. But not really, Flora thought later as she cast her mind over the long and troubling evening. Mr. Edwards and Robby arrived promptly, as promised, and helped Min into their car. Min sat in the front next to Mr. Edwards, and Flora and Ruby squeezed into the back with Robby. Even before they reached the hospital, Flora felt herself beginning to panic. The last time she had been on her way to a hospital was after the accident. She and Ruby had ridden in an ambulance then, but somehow this trip didn’t feel much different. And Flora’s mounting fear was not calmed by Robby, who kept shouting out, “Not the hospital! Not the hospital! I SAID, not the hospital!”

Mr. Edwards parked near the emergency entrance. Inside, Min explained to the nurse on duty what had happened, while Robby howled in the doorway, “I am not going in there!”

In the end, Ruby waited with Min and Mr. Edwards, while Flora sat on a bench outside the hospital with Robby. Her hands were shaking. What if, she wondered, this had been a much bigger accident? What if Min had been in a
car
accident? What if something much, much worse had happened? Much, much worse things could happen easily. They could happen quickly and they could happen when you were just riding along with your family, singing Christmas carols.

After Flora’s parents had died, Min had been there to take care of Flora and Ruby. But if Min died, Flora and Ruby were out of grandparents. Flora put her head in her hands and tried to drown out the sound of Robby muttering, “Stupid hospital. Stupid, stupid hospital.”

Half an hour later, with Min still waiting, Mrs. Edwards pulled into the parking lot. After a hurried conversation with her husband, she took Flora, Ruby, and Robby home. Mr. Edwards stayed behind with Min.

Flora and Ruby spent the night in the Edwardses’ guest room, sleeping in oversize T-shirts loaned to them by Robby.

“Everything all right?” asked Mrs. Edwards when the girls were settled together in a double bed. She sat down in an armchair. “Do you want me to stay with you for a while?”

“That’s okay,” said Ruby.

“You look awfully worried. It’s probably just a fracture, you know. Your grandmother might even get one of those removable casts. It isn’t a big deal.”

Flora forced a smile. “We’re okay. Really,” she said.

“All right.” Mrs. Edwards tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind her.

Ruby jumped up, closed the door, and scurried back into bed. She inched as close to her sister as she could get and tucked her feet under Flora’s legs.

“Your feet are freezing!” Flora exclaimed.