Night Journey (14 page)

“Well, I can only stay for about a week. But I thought you might spend the rest of the summer there at my sister Tyme’s house. She’s probably lonely since Chauncey died and she could use the company.” He smiled benevolently and added, “Then, if you still don’t want to marry Jared, you can come back home and go to business college in September.”

Ivy squealed with delight. “Oh, that sounds perfect! I’ll go and pack.”
June 24, 1938

Baker Cancer Hospital

Eureka Springs, Arkansas
Ivy fidgeted in the rocking chair and sipped her bottled spring water, feeling ill at ease by her surroundings. On either side of where she sat with her parents were row after row of hospital beds full of cancer patients sunning themselves on the third-floor veranda. But despite the cool mountain breeze and her short-sleeved cotton frock she felt her temperature rise uncomfortably, because every time she stole a glance toward her mother that horrible Dr. Baker would be staring at her.

She’d never seen a man dress so strangely—a white suit, with a lavender shirt, purple suspenders, and a purple tie. Dr. Baker wasn’t much taller than Ivy, but she got the impression he thought of himself as a big man. He seemed to be constantly bristling for a fight; he made her think of a banty rooster. He gave her the willies, but her parents seemed to be enchanted by him. She patted her wide-brimmed straw hat and attempted to position it to better hide her face so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Well, well.” Caleb leaned back in his chair, puffed his cigar, and gazed at the vista. “Now I see why my wife wanted to come here. This is quite a place you’ve got, Baker.”

“It certainly is, isn’t it?” Norman Baker sighed, inhaled his own cigar, then blew three dark smoke rings in succession. “My own little castle in the air—high atop the Ozarks. We consider it to be more like a health resort than a hospital—where relaxation is a big part of the treatment. We like to think of ourselves as one big, happy family living in a newly ‘furbished mansion—but we’re all just plain folks.”

Ivy scrunched lower in her seat, trying to hide her discomfort at Baker’s proselytizing. She didn’t understand why her parents thought the hospital was so beautiful. Certainly the mountain scenery was spectacular, and she supposed this former hotel had once been very grand. But now she could only think of one word to describe its furnishings—tacky.

She’d been shocked when she’d walked into the lobby and seen the paint scheme. Every wall was painted purple and the Venetian blinds were lavender. The beams and pillars were a hodge-podge of bright colors. Dr. Baker was apparently enamored of the Art Deco style of furnishing, but Ivy was not impressed with the garish-looking posters adorning the walls and the
moderne
style furniture.

Winifred Turner exhaled rapturously. “This place is so comfortable and everyone here is absolutely wonderful. It’s so nice to have both those rooms to myself and not have to share a bathroom with a stranger. I feel better now than I’ve felt in years.” She reached for Dr. Baker’s hand and squeezed. “I don’t think I would have been alive by Christmas if it weren’t for you.”

“There, there my dear.” Baker patted her hand and smiled imperiously. “That’s exactly what we’re here for.”

“So, Baker. How much longer until I can have my lovely wife back home?” asked Caleb.

“Oh, at the rate she’s progressing, I’d say she should be completely cured by the end of July.”

“Do you really think it will be that soon?” Winifred’s penciled-on eyebrows moved up even higher than usual. She seemed alarmed at the prospect of going back home. She placed her hand on her abdomen as if to nurse a pain.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Turner,” said Baker. “We’ll make absolutely sure all that nasty cancer is completely eradicated before we send you back out into the world.”

“So, what kind of treatments are you giving to my wife?” asked Caleb.

“We use only the latest, most scientifically formulated treatment available.” Dr. Baker’s eyes gleamed as he began to describe his procedure. “Everything is completely natural. We use only the finest ingredients, which I have personally formulated and tested on hundreds of cancer patients. We do
not
use any radium, x-ray, or surgery of any kind.”

Two giant Saint Bernards trotted over to Dr. Baker, nuzzled his hand, and lay down at his feet. Ivy loved dogs, but she’d never in her life seen such gigantic ones. She turned in her chair and reached down to pat one of them on its massive head. It gazed at her with sad-looking brown eyes and slobbered on the concrete porch.

Dr. Baker continued his lecture. “Ya know, it’s a cryin’ shame, but it’s a fact—modernization has increased our susceptibility to illness. Too many of us have deviated from nature’s gardens. We live our lives out of tin cans and fancy labeled boxes.”

“Humph. That’s for sure,” agreed Caleb.

“Yes—a poor diet, vaccinations, and the use of aluminum cooking utensils are the major cause of cancer nowadays.” Dr. Baker tapped his cigar in the ashtray, gazed out across the mountain and continued. “Now
my
treatments include all natural ingredients such as roots, barks, and herbs, which help to purify the blood and tone up the system. When the blood is pure, disease cannot exist.”

“That a Cuban cigar you got there?” Caleb leaned forward and sniffed the air.

“Direct from Havana,” replied Baker. He reached in his pocket and handed one to Caleb. “Wouldn’t smoke anything else. Sure is great to be an American where you can always get the very best of everything from anywhere in the world. The day I can’t get the real thing is the day I quit smoking.”

The wind shifted suddenly and the acrid smoke drifted toward Ivy. She covered her mouth to keep from choking and tried to wave it away. She wondered how they could possibly think what they were doing was healthy.

“Say, Baker, did you see in the paper what happened to Red Pollard yesterday?” asked Caleb.

“Who?”

“Pollard. That jockey who races Seabiscuit. Got his leg crushed in an accident on another horse. Guess he won’t be riding for a while.”

“Aah, that nag’s days are over anyhow.” Baker waved his hand in dismissal. “If Seabiscuit ever does get the match they keep promising, my money’ll be on War Admiral.”

Winifred gathered her silk kimono and straightened her fashionable turban before she leaned toward Dr. Baker. “I am so grateful for your wonderful radio broadcasts. Because of them, you’ve managed to get your message out to thousands of people who would have otherwise died.”

“Oh, yes. Many’s the evening we’ve sat around the wireless listening to your shows,” Caleb reminisced. “But we always had to keep a close eye on the daughter, or she’d be cranking the dial over to hear
Fibber McGee and Molly
or
Charlie McCarthy
.”

Ivy turned bright red from embarrassment as the older people laughed. She hated the way she felt when Dr. Baker turned his attention toward her. When he stared at her with those cold, calculating eyes through wire-framed spectacles, she felt as if she were being examined like a bug under a microscope. She nervously increased her motion in the rocking chair and tried to ignore him.

“Little girl doesn’t talk much,” remarked Baker.

“I’m not a little girl. I am of age.” Ivy retorted. She turned and gave Dr. Baker a cold stare. If it weren’t for her mother, she would get up and leave right now.

Dr. Baker smiled and resumed his conversation with the elder Turners. “Y’know that’s another thing that’s wrong with this country. The
radio trust
got together and formed the Federal Radio Commission so they could poison American’s minds with all that frippery—yet refused to renew my license for KTNT because the
medical trust
didn’t want the world to
Know the Naked Truth
about how the American Medical Association is gouging the public and not providing any cures for what ails them.” Dr. Baker paused while the Turners laughed. “The medical establishment profits too much from treatments. If they actually
cured
somebody, their purses would be considerably flattened.”

“Amen to that,” replied Caleb.

“Yes, we got one of your advertisements in the mail,” commented Winifred. “That’s what made me decide I just
had
to come here. I’ve been to so many doctors, but you’re the only one who’s ever promised me a cure.”

“D’you still own that station down in Mexico?” asked Caleb.

“Yessiree. X-E-N-T—100,000 watts of pure power.” Baker’s eyes gleamed as he related his story of persecution. “They closed me down in Iowa, but I came back bigger and better south of the border. Ran for governor while I was exiled down there, but the medical octopus—the AMA—made sure my name didn’t even appear on the ballot.”

“Humph. Sure is hard to make any headway when you’ve got all the powerful cards stacked against you,” said Caleb.

“Yep. They got a kangaroo court up against me and put out a warrant for my arrest. Said I was practicin’ medicine without a license.” Baker grinned and puffed his cigar. “So I showed ‘em. Come back to Iowa, turned myself in and served one day in jail. Then I ran for the US Senate on the Republican ticket. Did purty good, but then somebody put out a
March of Time
newsreel about me at the picture shows and called me a quack. So that’s when I decided to give up on the thugs in my home state of Iowa and I found this lovely place here in Arkansas.”

“Well, it’s probably a blessing in the long run,” said Winifred. “I’m sure you can help a lot more people with your healing than if you were up there in Washington butting heads.”

Baker nodded and smiled. “You just might be right, Mrs. Turner.” He suddenly rose and extended his hand to Caleb. “Well, I really must be about my duties. It was so nice to meet you, and I hope you enjoy your stay with us—is the little missy going to stay? We can always bring in an extra bed.”

Ivy’s skin crawled at the thought. She spoke up in what she hoped was an appropriately icy tone. “I will be staying at my aunt’s house in town.”

Norman Baker grinned, gave her a wink, and whistled. Both dogs jumped to attention and trotted after their master. Ivy shuddered, took another sip of water and tried not to think about him any more.
Ivy stood next to her Aunt Tyme and waved at the train as it chugged out of the Eureka Springs depot. She hadn’t been surprised Mama’d felt too weak to see Papa off—she was used to it by now. A black cloud of soot billowed up from the coal-powered steam locomotive and the whistle’s shrill blast drowned out the chirping of the pond frogs. When the caboose was out of sight, she reached for the red rose pinned to her dress, jerked it loose, and tossed it into a nearby garbage can.

“Ouch.” She winced and examined the drop of blood oozing from her fingertip.

“I see you got pricked by your corsage.” Tyme smiled knowingly and handed Ivy a linen handkerchief. “Men can be like thorns at times.”

“Thanks, Aunt Tyme.” Ivy wrapped the cloth around her finger. “I’m sorry Jared’s been such a pest all week. He’s about to drive me to distraction.”

“Don’t feel bad, kiddo. I’ve been through the same thing.” Tyme reached into her bag and pulled out a package of Camels and a Zippo lighter. She placed the cigarette into a holder and lit it. Taking a long, sensuous drag, she closed her eyes and exhaled. “Please don’t call me
aunt
. It makes me feel so old.” She held the cigarette toward Ivy. “Here, you wanna try it?”

“Oh, Papa would have my hide if he knew!” Her eyes grew wide and then she grinned. “Well, Papa’s not here. Maybe I’ll try it just once.” She reached for the cigarette and tried to mimic her aunt. She sucked in too much smoke and bent over in a fit of coughing.

Tyme took back the cigarette and pounded Ivy on the back. “Now you’ve tried it and it’s done. Smoking’s a nasty habit you should never start. I wish I hadn’t.” She put it back in her own mouth and inhaled, then blew out a cloud of smoke. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ivy’s throat still felt raspy from that one brief puff. How in the world did anybody ever get hooked on those things? She grinned at her aunt, whom she’d grown to love and admire in the past week. Her father’s baby sister was so young and pretty, it seemed a shame for her to have to dress in black widow’s weeds all the time. She followed Tyme to a brown 1930 Model A Ford Fordor and climbed into the front passenger seat.

“Ahooga!” Tyme honked the horn and a flock of chickens scattered.

Ivy held onto her hat and grabbed for the dashboard as Tyme’s old car chugged through the winding streets. She giggled at the sight of a middle-aged lady standing on the sidewalk, gazing suspiciously at the two attractive young women driving unaccompanied. Tyme waved and puffed on her cigarette. The woman’s disapproving stare made Ivy feel very grown up and scandalous.

She saw the telegraph office and tugged on her aunt’s arm. “Tyme, can we stop there for a minute? I want to send a telegram.”