Chapter Two

Whatever this moment was, it held pain in it; it was all pain, only pain. Her hand, moving at random beside her, found something light and soft, drew it toward her. A scarf-like thing, a handkerchief. It was knotted, and the knot was kept from slipping by a little metal circlet, by a ring it had been drawn through. She put the little bulge of the knot between her teeth and bit on it. That helped, the pain eased a little. The more the pain grew, the harder she bit.

She only wanted to sleep, to sleep some more. And they were making so much noise they wouldn’t let her. Clanging, and pounding on sheets of loose tin, and prying things away.

She cried softly in protest — no, it wasn’t her own voice, she knew now. She knew. And there was a sudden frightened flurry of activity, the pounding became faster, the prying became more hectic.

Then all at once a man’s voice sounded directly over her, strangely hollow and blurred.

“Steady. We’re coming to you. Just a minute longer. Can you hold out? Are you hurt? Are you alone down there?”

“No,” she said feebly. “I’ve... I’ve just had a baby down here... ”


First she was dimly aware only of the small sphere immediately around her: the pillows behind her head, the bed covers under her chin, a dim face bending close. She was aware of a small form that was alive and warm and hers. She came more alive at those moments when she felt it nestled in her arms. It was her lifeline back to life. The rest remained unfocussed, lost in misty gray distances. Then visibility spread to the whole room around her. Then she noticed flowers in the room. There was fruit too, in a basket over by the window, with a big-eared satin bow standing up straight above its handle.

And the last phase of recovery was sitting up. She saw her own hands one day. And on the left hand something twinkled and caught her eye. She was suddenly looking at a slender circlet set with diamonds, a sapphire at each end. A wedding-band. Strange and yet she remembered it. Or did she?

The nurse came in and saw her looking at it. She called the doctor, who gave her something to drink.

It tasted salty and sent her to sleep.

She wanted one of the flowers. A small one, arching over in her direction, invited her. Her hand closed on its stalk. She started to draw it toward her, and that carried her hand high up over her head.

Something jangled and fell beside her, from the bed-frame. It was a chart.

It said at the top: “Section A.”

It said below that: “Room 9.”

It said: “Patient’s Name—”

And then it said. “Hazzard, Patrice (Mrs.).”

The nurse came into the room, and when she saw the chart, she came over and put it back in place. She took the girl’s temperature. Her brows rose. She put the thermometer down.

The girl in the bed asked tautly, “That chart? Why is it there?”

“Everyone has to have one,” the nurse answered soothingly.

“But it says—”

“You’re not supposed to look at it. Sh, don’t talk now any more.”

“But there’s something I... I don’t understand—”

The nurse brought the doctor. He took the girl’s pulse. Then he shrugged. He took it down, the framed chart behind her head, and carried it out of the room with him.

They brought in the child. They gave it to her in her arms. Fear left slowly, unease and strangeness left slowly.

They watched her for awhile. She didn’t know when they took the small, warm bundle from her again, for she was asleep.

Something said to her: “Tread softly, speak slowly. Take care, take care.” She didn’t know what or why, but she knew it must be heeded.

The nurse said to her, “You can have a little coffee in your milk now. Won’t that be a pleasant change?”

Tread softly, speak with care.

She said, “What happened to—?”

“To whom?” the nurse asked.

Oh, careful now, careful. “There was another girl in the train washroom with me. Is she all right?”

The nurse shook her head reticently. She said, “No.”

“She’s dead?”

The nurse answered, “Did you know her very well?”

“No.”

“You’d only met her on the train?”

“Only on the train.”

The nurse had paved the way. She felt it was safe to proceed now. “She’s gone,” she said quietly. The nurse watched her face. No change. She ventured more. “Isn’t there anyone else you want to ask about?”

“What happened to—?”

The nurse took the tray away, as if stripping the scene for a crisis. “To him?”

Those were the nurse’s words. She adopted them. “To him?”

The doctor came in, with a second. She went to the door, opened it, and motioned to someone.

The doctor came in, and a second nurse. They stood waiting, as if prepared to meet an emergency.

The first nurse said, “Temperature normal.” She said, “Pulse normal.”

The second nurse was mixing something in a glass.

The first nurse, her own, stood close to the bed. She took her by the hand and held tightly. “Your husband — wasn’t saved either, Mrs. Hazzard.”

She said, “My husband? No, you’re making a mistake—”

The doctor and the second nurse closed in on her swiftly.

Somebody put a cool hand to her forehead, held her pressed downward, kindly but firmly.

She said, “No, please let me tell you!”

The second nurse was holding something to her lips.

“Please—!” she said listlessly.

She didn’t say anything more after that. They didn’t either.

Finally she overheard the doctor murmur, as if in punctuation: “She stood that very well.”


The nurse’s name was Miss Allmeyer. “Miss Allmeyer, does the hospital give everyone those flowers every day?”

“We’d like to, but we couldn’t afford it. It’s a standing order, just for you.”

“Well, who—?” Speak softly.

The nurse smiled winningly. “Can’t you guess, honey?”

“There’s something I want to tell you. Something you must let me tell you.” She turned her head restlessly on the pillows, first to one side, then to the other.

“Now, honey, are we going to have a bad day? I thought we were going to have such a good day.”

“Could you find out something for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“The handbag; the handbag that was in the train-washroom with me.”

“Your handbag?”

“The handbag. The one that was there when I was in there.”

The nurse came back later and said, “It’s safe; it’s being held for you. There’s about fifty dollars or so in it.”

That wasn’t hers, that was the other one.

“There were two.”

“There is another,” the nurse admitted. “It doesn’t belong to anyone now.” She looked down commiseratingly. “There was just five dollars in it,” she breathed almost inaudibly.

She didn’t have to be told that. She knew by heart. She remembered from before boarding the train. She remembered from the train itself.

“Could you bring it in here? Could I have it just to look at it? Could I have it here next to the bed?”

The nurse said, “I’ll see what they say.”

She brought it, though.

She was alone with it. She dumped the contents onto the bed. Five dollars. A railroad ticket, one way, from New York to San Francisco, partly used-up now. A copy of a divorce-decree, issued in Juarez, Mexico. Granting Steve Georgesson a divorce from Helen Georgesson.


The nurse came back again and smiled at her. “Now what was it you said you wanted to tell me?”

She returned the smile, wanly. “I’ll tell you some other time. Tomorrow maybe. Or the next day.”

There was a letter on the breakfast tray.

The nurse said, “See? Now you’re beginning to get mail, just like the well people do.”

It said: “Mrs. Patrice Hazzard,” She was afraid of it. The writing on it seemed to get bigger and bigger. “MRS. PATRICE HAZZARD.”

“Open it,” the nurse encouraged. She tried twice. The third time she managed.

“Patrice, dear:

Though we’ve never seen you, you’re our daughter now, dear. You’re Hugh’s legacy to us. You’re all we have now, you and the little tyke. I can’t come to you where you are, because the shock was too much. I’m under the doctor’s care and he forbids my making the trip. You’ll have to come to us, instead. Come home to us soon, dear, in our loneliness and loss. It will make it that much easier to bear. It won’t be long now, dear. We’ve been in constant touch with Dr. Brett, and he sends very encouraging reports of your progress.

Mother Hazzard.”

It was like train-wheels going through her head.

Though we’ve never seen you.

Though we’ve never seen you.

The nurse eased it from her forgetful fingers after awhile, and put it back in its envelope. She watched the nurse fearfully as she moved about the room.

“If I weren’t Mrs. Hazzard, would I be allowed to stay in this room?”

The nurse laughed cheerfully. “We’d put you out, we’d throw you right outside into one of the wards,” she said, bending over her in mock threat.

The nurse left, and returned with the baby. “Here, take your young son.”

She held him protectively.

Five dollars. Five dollars lasts such a short time, goes such a short way.

She was in a dressing robe, sitting by the window in the sun. There was a light tap at the door and the doctor came in. He drew out a chair and sat down opposite her. “I hear you’re leaving us soon,” he said genially.

The book she’d been reading fell and he had to pick it up for her.

“Don’t look so frightened. Everything’s arranged. Here are your tickets,” He took an envelope out of his pocket, tried to offer it to her. Her hands withdrew a little, each one around an arm of the chair. He put the envelope between the pages of the discarded book finally, like a bookmark.

“When?” she said with scarcely any breath at all.

“Wednesday, the early train.”

Suddenly panic was licking all over her, like a flame.

“No, I can’t! No! Doctor, you must listen—!” She tried to grab his hand with both of hers.

He held her hand between both of his consolingly. “I understand,” he said. “We’re a little shaky yet. We’ve just finished getting used to things as they are. We’re a little timid about giving up familiar surroundings for those that are strange to us. We all have it; it’s a typical nervous reaction. But you’ll be over it in no time.”

“But I can’t do it, doctor,” she whispered passionately. “I can’t do it.”

He patted her cheek to calm her. “We’ll put you on the train, and all you have to do is ride. Your family will be waiting for you at the end of the trip.”

“My family!”

“Don’t make such a face about it,” he said whimsically.

He glanced around at the crib.

“What about the young man here?”

He went over and lifted out the child. He brought him to her and put him in her arms.

“You want to take him home, don’t you? You don’t want him to grow up in a hospital?” He laughed at her teasingly. “You want him to have a home, don’t you?”

She held the baby to her.

“Yes,” she said at last, submissively. “Yes, I want him to have a home.”

Загрузка...