Dunaway's Crossing (29 page)

Bea Dot marched off the wooded path onto the dirt road leading to Pineview. Surveying her surroundings, she tried to remember which direction Thaddeus took when he drove her to town for Netta’s burial. In the distance, she spied a crossroads. It must be the crossing. From that spot she would know the way to town.

A gust of wind pushed her along the road, and she pulled the old, wool coat collar up her neck to her jaw line. Good thing she’d worn her pants this morning, but she wished she had a scarf. It would probably be dark before she got to Pineview, but nothing could keep her from getting to Will. She would never forgive herself if he died before she could promise herself to him.

An engine’s rumble grew louder behind her, and in a moment, Thaddeus’s truck bounced along her side. He pulled to a stop and rested his elbow on the window. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here? Eliza’s worried sick about you.”

“I’ve got to get to Pineview,” she replied, and she resumed her walk toward the crossing.

Thaddeus rolled in first gear alongside her. “I done told you I’d go in the morning to ask after him.”

Bea Dot shook her head as she walked, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “That could be too late. I’ve got to tell him something.”

“It’ll be dark fore long. Get in the truck, Miss Bea Dot. Let me take you home.”

Bea Dot stopped walking and faced him again. He jerked his truck to a stop also.

“Thaddeus, I’m going to town. If you won’t take me, I’ll understand, but I’m going with or without your help.”

He shook his head, then rested his forehead on the steering wheel, mumbling about stubborn women. After a moment, he sighed and said, “All right, dammit. Get in.”

She crossed over to the passenger side of the truck and took her second trip to town with Thaddeus. She gazed out her window as she chewed on her thumbnail, wondering if central Georgia had a square foot of land without a pine tree growing on it. For the first mile, Thaddeus silently steered next to her. She knew his mind churned resentment about driving her to town, but if Will was going to die of influenza, at least he would know how she felt about him.

Eventually, Thaddeus broke the silence. “That Bonner fellow’s right, ain’t he?”

Bea Dot continued chewing on her nail, and her thumb burned where she’d bitten down to the quick.

“Me and Eliza thought you wasn’t married,” he went on after a short pause. “Will think the same thing?”

“No,” she said. “He knows about my husband.”

Thaddeus raised his eyebrows and pulled back the corner of his mouth. “He carrying a torch for you too? ‘Cause if he ain’t, you might as well let him alone.”

Bea Dot sighed and turned her face to Thaddeus. She couldn’t blame him for being concerned about his friend. “He wants to marry me.”

He sucked his teeth, then said, “Mm, mm. You in a real pickle.”

They rode in silence the rest of the trip.

#

Will wanted a table. On the floor, he had to shift his position to avoid being hit by Lola’s dripping water bucket, or even worse, someone else’s spittle. One time he was too slow and caught some drops of urine. No telling what got on him while he slept. The slick, grimy floor smelled of rot. He had to get out of the filth.

Unfortunately, every movement brought on debilitating pain. His head ached even worse than a moonshine hangover, and his fever made him shiver and sweat simultaneously. His skin hurt constantly, and the occasional cold rag Lola plopped on his head brought no relief. Why did she even bother with it?

Maybe because she had no choice? He’d caught snatches of her conversations with Harley and heard the phrases “need alcohol” and “out of food.” Once she’d raised her voice: “You tell Doc Coolidge I leaving if he don’t’ get me no supplies.” She didn’t leave, so Will assumed she got her supplies.

Good for Lola.

Still, she took her frustration out on her patients. Understanding the resentment of being forced to volunteer, he tried not to irritate her. But today was different. When the woman died on the dining room sideboard, he watched Lola push her body onto the floor, then drag her by the feet out of the room. If he could get onto that table, he could see out the window—and stay dry. The next time Lola passed by, Will clutched the hem of her skirt.

She scowled at him and asked, “What you want?”

He tried to ask for help, but when he inhaled to speak, he provoked a fit of coughs that he thought would make his lungs explode. Lola stooped and pushed his torso up to a seated position until the coughs subsided. When she tried to ease him back to the floor, Will shook his head and pointed to the sideboard.

“I can’t lift you up there, Mr. Will,” she said sharply. “You got to wait til Mr. Harley come back.”

Refusing her refusal, he pulled himself up to his hands and knees, even though his head and chest punished him for it.

Lola stood with crossed arms, cocking her head to one side as she watched. “Oh, so you gone try to do it yourself? I gotta see this.”

Pressing his hand against the side of the fireplace, he lifted himself to kneeing before resting for a few seconds. After a couple of brutal coughs, he grasped the mantle and pulled himself to his feet. Immediately, he swayed with dizziness, and his legs gave way, but Lola caught him under his arm with her shoulder.

“Oh, all right,” she complained. “You so bent on getting up there, come on. But if I can’t get you on top of it, you gone have to settle for lying under it.”

Leaning on Lola’s shoulder, Will slowly shuffled between other sick citizens of Pineview, most of them delirious with fever. He panted with exertion, as if he were hiking across Georgia, and sharp pain radiated across his chest and back, but he forced himself to creep the eight remaining feet to the sideboard. Upon reaching it, he coughed heavily, then waited for the dizziness to subside, Lola holding her arm around his waist. Fortunately, the table top came just to his hip, so he could easily sit on it, then recline with Lola lifting his feet and legs. His lungs rattled with each shallow breath.

“You satisfied now?” Lola asked caustically. “You need anything else? Fresh linens? Shrimp cocktail?”

Responding out loud would hurt too much, so Will shook his head and ventured a grateful smile. Lola huffed away without noticing his expression, and he drifted off to a fitful sleep. Fragmented dreams peppered his slumber with images of trenches, coffins, Bea Dot, a mail bag, a bobcat, Bea Dot, an ambulance, a red-haired woman, a mass grave, Bea Dot, his box wagon, Bea Dot.

He woke once to find a blanket covering him and a pillow under his head. He awoke later and spied the blanket on the floor. Not daring to ask Lola to retrieve it, he drifted off to another shivering sleep. A captain in Belleau Wood shone a lantern in his face, making him squint and cover his eyes with his hands. Then he awoke to find the morning sun shining through the window on him.

Lola approached him, smelling of chemical and vomit. She felt his forehead, then wiped off his face and arms with a cold cloth before examining his fingernails.  He’d seen her do that often and wondered why. Then she put one hand on her hip as she regarded him with one raised eyebrow.

“You got the last half bottle a alcohol, Mr. Will. Look like you just might walk outa here.”

When she walked away, Will surveyed the dining room. Several spaces on the floor had cleared out, and through the doorway he noticed a new patient lying on the sofa. He turned his head slowly toward the window, trying not to exacerbate the ache, which had dulled overnight. In the front yard, brown dogwood leaves clung to their branches against a stiff breeze, eventually giving way and fluttering to the ground. One or two held fast in spite of the wind. Moments later, his box wagon pulled into the yard, Harley at the reins, rolling across the grass and through the rose bushes before disappearing around the corner of the house. The wagon’s bed was empty. A short while later, it reappeared with bodies lying in the back, bouncing slightly as the wagon drove over the bumpy yard. Will counted six pairs of feet before another fit of coughing ignited his lungs.

#

When the truck rolled into Pineview, Thaddeus turned it down a road Bea Dot had never seen before. After a short distance, he stopped in front of a two-storey brick building with wide front steps. Over the double front door, a sign read, “Shine Bunn Memorial Hospital.” Two men in gauze masks stood guard by the entrance.

Bea Dot leapt out of the truck taking the steps two at a time. Ignoring the guards, she reached for the door handle, but one guard grasped her arm and said, “Ma’am, you can’t go in there.”

“It’s all right,” she lied. “I’m Dr. Coolidge’s sister in-law. I’m taking care of his baby, and I need to see him.”

The guard shook his head sternly, his authoritative eyes focused on hers. His grip hardened slightly. “No, ma’am. City ordinance. The hospital is quarantined. No one goes in who ain’t go the flu.”

Bea Dot ripped her arm out of the guard’s grasp. “You don’t understand,” she persisted. “I must see Wi—I mean Dr. Coolidge. It’s important.” She paused, then added, “Life or death.”

The second man had taken position next to the first, with hands on hips. His gauze mask puffed when he spoke. “Everything in this hospital is life or death, ma’am. You can’t go in.”

Thaddeus had climbed the steps and joined the cluster by the door. “Miss Bea Dot, let’s go.”

“No, I came all the way here. I have to see him.” Her voice had begun to waver, and she inhaled deeply, willing herself to control her temper. She turned to the first guard again. “I’ll give you twenty dollars to let me in.”

Thaddeus shook his head. “Oh, good Lord.”

“Ma’am, I don’t want to arrest you, but I’m about to have to,” the first guard said, scowling behind his mask.

“You’ll have to carry me off these steps,” she persisted, her voice rising an octave, “because I’m not leaving.” She stomped her foot for emphasis, realizing too late her childish behavior.

“Suit yourself,” the first guard said, and he picked Bea Dot up by the waist.

“No need for that, Pete,” Thaddeus interjected. “I’ll take her.”

The guard lowered her just as the front door burst open. Ralph Coolidge emerged with a stethoscope around his neck and a white towel in his hands. His cheekbones jutted from his face, and above his gauze mask, his sunken eyes looked like a dead man’s.

“What in hell is going on out here?” He spied Bea Dot, and his jaw dropped. Hands on hips, he demanded, “Bea Dot what are you doing here?” After a beat, his expression changed from surprise to frown. “Is the baby all right?”

“The baby’s fine, Ralph,” Thaddeus said. “No need to worry.”

“Then what are you doing in town?” Ralph said to Bea Dot. “Why aren’t you at home minding her?”

“Ralph, I just want to see Will for a minute. I have to tell him something. Please. I’ll keep my distance. I just have to see him.” Her heart pounded with desperation.

Ralph shook his head slowly and relaxed his stance. He waved the two guards away as he spoke to Bea Dot. “He’s not even here. He’s over at my house with the overflow patients.”

Bea Dot started to descend the steps, but Ralph grabbed her arm to stop her. “Don’t you dare go over there,” he said.

“But Ralph—”

“Don’t.” He turned his eyes to Thaddeus. “Take her back to your house, and don’t let her come to town again until I send for her.” To Bea Dot, he softened his voice and said, “You promised to care for my baby. She’s all I’ve got left. If you go in this hospital…” he pointed his thumb toward the door, “…or in my house, you’ll expose yourself to influenza and take it back to the Taylors’ home. I’ll not have you making yourself sick or any of their family. Especially not my daughter. Do you understand me?”

Bea Dot nodded and took a step back, burning with shame at the risk she posed for the Taylors. Still, she’d come all this distance to see Will. There must be a way. Maybe she could convince Thaddeus to let her slip a note under the door of Ralph’s house.

“It’s been a devastating week for all of us,” Ralph continued. “But you must be strong. The flu is subsiding a bit, and if we can keep it contained to this hospital and my house, we just might stand a chance.”

Bea Dot stared at her shoes, embarrassed at having caused a scene, but still trying to think of a way to get a message to Will, maybe get a glance of him.

Ralph turned to enter the hospital, but Bea Dot stopped him. “Ralph, can you at least tell me how Will is?”

He ran his hand through his dirty hair before answering. “I haven’t heard from Lola, but I haven’t seen him in the back of Harley’s wagon either. That’s a good sign.”

He disappeared into the hospital.

Dejected, Bea Dot descended the front steps with Thaddeus, who opened the truck door for her. “Do you think we could find this Harley person and ask him if he knows anything about Will?” she asked.

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Ferguson,” a familiar whiny voice came from behind her. She inched up her shoulders in irritation.

She turned to face Kermit Bonner, still scratching his lip above his mustache. In his other hand, he held a small yellow envelope.