Wings of a Dream (4 page)

Sheriff Jeffries hesitated. “Fairly well.”

Something in his voice pricked my interest. “What’s she like?”

He turned his head for a moment, his eyebrows slanting toward his nose. “Don’t you know her?”

“I’ve met her. But she and my mother don’t . . .” How did I say it without speaking ill of my mother or her sister?

He whistled long and low. “Wondered why I’d never heard of you before.”

It comforted me to know Aunt Adabelle hadn’t told our business about town. I didn’t want anyone to know about the argument I’d heard between Mama and her sister during Adabelle’s second and final visit to our home.

“I don’t see why you won’t just move back here, Adabelle,” Mama had scolded, as if Adabelle were no more than my own eleven years.

Mama thought I was helping Daddy and Will in the south field, but I’d come back for lemonade, heard the voices, and slipped beneath the porch. I lay in the cool dirt, listening.

“I’ve lived on my own for over ten years now, Margaret. I like it. I like not having anyone tell me what to do.”

“Except your employers, of course.”

“I mean with my life. I get to make my own decisions; they just direct my duties within their households.”

“But a woman living alone is unseemly.”

“Why? I’m a widow, Margaret. How can you find fault with me for that?”

“If you hadn’t run away with that boy—sixteen was far too young.”

“I loved him. I still do.” Aunt Adabelle’s voice sounded sad.

She went away again without saying hello or good-bye. And Mama never mentioned the visit. Ever.

Had Aunt Adabelle loved her husband the way I loved Arthur? I hoped so. In fact, I was counting on it. I squinted into the darkness as I spoke to the sheriff. “Has Aunt Adabelle been feeling poorly for long?”

“No . . .” He drew out the word, almost as if he thought I should know the answer to my own question. Then he slid another look my way.

“Is she confined to bed?” I watched his eyes narrow as if he were trying to see something far away. I peered through the windscreen. All I saw was road.

“Seen any of the influenza up your way?”

I hadn’t heard of any particular outbreak of flu around our town, but I hadn’t paid much attention to the goings-on in anyone’s life but my own lately. Still, relief swept through me. I’d had the flu before. A week or so in bed and Aunt Adabelle would be up and around again, wouldn’t she? After that, I could figure out a way to get to Arthur.

Silence hung between us, awkward as a crooked picture. “Is that what she has?” I asked. “Influenza?”

“Yes, but . . . ” His lips puckered shut.

“But what?”

The car slowed. A two-story farmhouse loomed against the darkening horizon. “Is that her house?”

“Yes.” A long, unsure word.

That same uneasy feeling I’d had when I held the telegram in my fingers returned now, pushing at my chest in a way I didn’t understand. Why did his manner disturb me so?

Light spilled from a downstairs window. I brushed aside my concern. Sheriff Jeffries probably didn’t know the whole situation. He probably imagined my aunt’s illness to be worse than it was.

We motored past the low picket fence that closed in the house yard and stopped near the back gate. I lowered my throbbing foot to the ground and stood. The pain made me wince, but I could bear it. I held the sheriff’s arm for support as he led me to a door—the kitchen, I felt sure. We stepped inside the dark room, the smell of stale food hovering over the shadowy dishes that littered the kitchen table.

“This way.” The sheriff hurried me along to the lit room across from the kitchen. A thousand questions started and died on my lips before a towheaded girl appeared. Her dirty dress hung limp. Her bare toes hugged the cold floor.

I stepped back. A child tended my aunt?

“Ollie Elizabeth”—Sheriff Jeffries put a hand on her head and tipped it back so he could see her face—“this is Miss Ada’s niece. She’s come to help.”

The girl’s large eyes turned in my direction, then looked back at the man she obviously knew. She pushed her unruly hair from her face before whispering into the stillness. “I told Miss Ada that Mr. Doc would come.”

“And I’m sure he’s doing his best to get here. Don’t you worry.”

The serious-faced girl nodded. Then she tilted her head and eyed me once more. “If you’re going to stay, you can use my room.” She tiptoed past us, toward the dark staircase.

The sheriff motioned for me to follow. For now, I saw no other choice.

O
llie Elizabeth led me up a narrow staircase. The pain in my ankle dulled a little with each step. And my boot didn’t pinch, so it must not have swollen much. When we reached the top, she pushed open the first of two doors. Its hinges creaked like an old man’s knees.

The night air squeezed between the window sash and sill, the smell of woodsmoke on its edges. I shivered, but more from the heaviness of this place than from the cool bite of the air. A thin strip of moonlight through the glass lit the room enough for me to discern a bed against one wall, a dresser against the opposite one. The simplicity reminded me of home. I relaxed, chiding myself for taking on Sheriff Jeffries’s foreboding.

Ollie remained with her back against the open door.

“Is this your room?” I asked her.

She lifted one shoulder. “I slept in here before, but with Daddy gone, James likes us all together.” She nodded toward the room next door and again brushed aside the lock of hair that fell across her eyes.

Before? Daddy? James? What didn’t I know about Aunt Adabelle’s life? I gritted my teeth, not sure how much to ask this child. Instead I laid my hand on her thin shoulder and knelt down, my eyes even with hers. “I’m here now, honey. Everything’s going to be fine.”

One corner of her mouth turned down. Didn’t she believe me?

“You go on to bed. I’ll take care of things for a while.”

Her mouth opened, as if to protest, then shut again before she scurried like a scared rabbit into the next room. I slid my suitcase next to the dresser and stared at the wall dividing one bedroom from the other.

Aunt Adabelle obviously needed help. I knew I could keep house and make the meals, but I’d never had sole responsibility for a child before. In fact, I’d rarely had any contact with children, except for the younger students in school. But Ollie seemed quite capable. She’d obviously been taking care of things until now.

Stepping back into the dark hall, I let my fingertips graze the wall and guide me back to the staircase and down again. I needed to ask the sheriff some questions before he left. Errant curls tickled my face as my shoes thudded unevenly toward the lit room. I stood blinking into the brightness.

“Here she is, Adabelle.” The sheriff’s voice held a tenderness that surprised me.

My eyes adjusted to the light, my nose to the overwhelming scent of camphor and mint. Sheriff Jeffries stood beside the bed holding my aunt’s small hand. I studied the face staring at me from under a mound of quilts. It didn’t hold any resemblance to my memory of Aunt Adabelle. No rosy cheeks or shiny eyes. Her skin looked taut against her bones, not soft and full as I remembered. I tried to hold back a gasp, but it half-escaped into the quietness of the room.

Sheriff Jeffries’s head jerked up. He stared at me as if my panicked thoughts had run loose into the room. Then he softened again, signaling that I should take the chair next to the bed. I did as he bade, but I’m sure my eyes resembled lily pads on a pond when I looked back at him. Mama had always kept me out of the sickroom. She nursed Will and Daddy and me all on her own.

I would ask the sheriff to stay.

But he couldn’t stay. Not all night. Not without a chaperone in the house.

His gaze locked on mine. “You’re in good hands now, Adabelle.”

I gave my head a slight shake. My hands weren’t good. They were young, inexperienced, immature. And this didn’t look like the flu symptoms I’d seen. Aunt Adabelle appeared seriously ill, with her sunken, dark eyes and pale face. I didn’t know how to take care of someone so sick.

Sheriff Jeffries only nodded. “Doc Risinger will come again as soon as he can.”

“Thank you . . .” came the croak from the bed. A rasping intake of breath followed before the word “Sheriff” found its way out of her mouth.

He stood. I did the same, following him to the door.

“Water’s in the basin,” he said to me. “Keep cool rags on her skin.”

“Who—” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Who is Ollie? Am I to care for her, too?”

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Adabelle’s been caring for Ollie Elizabeth and her brothers and sister since their mother passed. With their daddy off fighting the Germans, they needed someone.”

I tried to comprehend his meaning. Brothers? Sister? Did they have no one else?

“I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” He settled his hat on his head and left before I could find my voice to protest. Watching the room empty of him was like watching the rope slither down the water well into oblivion, only the plunk of the bucket indicating the bottom had been reached.

My plunk came in the form of another rattling breath from the bed beside me. I forced myself to smile into my aunt’s face. Remembering the rags and cool water, I dipped a dry square of cloth in the basin, then wrung out the water before dabbing it on my aunt’s forehead.

“I expect you don’t recognize me, Aunt Adabelle. I’m Rebekah. My mama—your sister—sent me to look after you.” Hearing my own voice calmed my nerves.

A spasm of coughing shook her. I stepped back from the bed, the rag limp in my hands, until the coughing quieted.

She held out her hand to me. I returned to her bedside, my stomach boiling with panic.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

What did she mean?

“Won’t be long now.” Slow words. Tired words.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Adabelle.” I pulled the cool cloth down her hot cheeks. “I’m here now. You’ll be up and around in no time. I promise.”

My voice sounded far more confident than I felt.

I dozed in the chair, startling awake at intervals—sometimes to silence, sometimes to my aunt’s moans. Each time, I’d rub the sleep from my face and reach for another rag to baptize her feverish head in cool water.

Aunt Adabelle’s skin appeared darker near morning. Or perhaps the light waned, instead. I peered at the kerosene lamp on the bedside table, but its clear bowl showed plenty of fuel, and its flame blazed on a trimmed wick. I touched another wet rag to her face. My fingertips warmed as if I touched bread fresh from the oven. If only Mama had let me watch her healing hands at work over those she loved. But she hadn’t. So I carried on with only the sheriff’s meager instructions as my guide.

He’d promised the doctor would come. But when? With shaking hands, I gathered my unruly hair, trying to pin the wildest strands into their proper places. Then I attempted to smooth the front of my skirt, the fabric now as wrinkled as an old woman’s hands.

As the outside darkness muted to gray, dark spots, almost purple, streaked my aunt’s ashen cheeks. Was that normal with a fever? Then a crimson line trickled from her mouth to her chin. It touched the white edge of the top quilt and spread into a blood-red stain.

My heart nearly stopped. I jumped from my chair and wiped her chin clear before inching away from the bed and the blood. As uninformed as I was, I knew this did not portend good. My back hit the solid wall. I slid toward the floor, gathering my knees to my chest.

Rattling, gasping breaths filled the room, filled my ears. I longed to run away, to listen instead to the rustle of the wind through the trees or the ripple of water over a cluster of stones. I hadn’t anticipated this. I’d only focused on escaping the farm and finding an adventure.

Sometime after dawn, Ollie stood at my side, blond hair matted, eyes swimming with tears that didn’t fall. She reached her thin arms around my neck and laid her cheek on my head. Relief tumbled over me as I closed my arms around her.

We held each other for only a moment before I stood on tingling legs and took Ollie’s hand in mine. We moved back to the chair near the bed. I pulled Ollie onto my lap. She reached for Aunt Adabelle’s hand and held it between her two small ones. I dabbed a damp cloth against the blood now coating my aunt’s chin.