The Sweetest Thing (31 page)

“And the cost?” This Mother whispered.

“Two thousand dollars, initially.”

Mother reached out and took my hand to steady herself. He might as well have said two million. No one had that kind of money in the middle of the Depression. Even my aunt and uncle had very little cash, just land and animals and gardens and generous hearts.

Regaining her composure, Mother asked, “And when would you hope to begin the treatments?”

“Immediately.”

The doctor nodded his head and left us there in the hospital waiting room.

“We'll get the money, Mother. I know we will somehow.”

“Yes, of course it will work out.” But her voice was raspy with raw emotion. “Your aunt and uncle are paying for the hospital stay right now.”

Hosea drove us back home in silence. I don't know what Mother was doing, but I was calculating in my little mind, thinking about the Phi Pis and their prayers for Coobie and wondering if their brand new faith was strong enough for this kind of trial.

Perri

Hank and Dobbs appeared at my house late on Monday afternoon. Dobbs's face was so pale and distraught when I met them at the door that I knew she didn't have good news. When she fell into my arms, I looked up at Hank for a hint of what was happening. He was wearing my father's suit, and that took my breath away.

“She's just come from seeing Coobie at Piedmont. The doctor wants to start the treatment immediately.” He waited for Dobbs to chime in, but she had pulled herself from my arms and stood woodenly, almost as if she were pasted there, like a paper doll. “The treatment is cost prohibitive. They need to come up with two thousand dollars by the end of March.”

I kept hearing Dobbs telling her stories. “
God will provide. He always provides.”
And then I saw her during the long past week. “
I don't believe anymore. He didn't provide for Jackie, and now he's ripping us apart again with Coobie. I don't believe anymore.”

Hank took care of her as if she were his little sister, but long ago I had recognized the depth of love he had for Mary Dobbs Dillard. I prayed she would come back to her faith, and I prayed she would come back to her Hank.

After they left, I went into my room, took the tin of pennies and turned it over on the floor, listening in a trance to the crash and then jingle of the copper and nickel and silver, watching them spinning and twirling and finally settling all over the floor. Hundreds and hundreds of pennies, now interspersed with nickels and dimes and quarters. Barbara and Irvin and Mamma, who had been listening to the radio in the little den, heard the noise and rushed into the bedroom.

“What in the world . . . ?” Mamma began, but then she saw the determination on my face, and she smiled at me, put her arms around my siblings, and said, “Let's finish listening to
Little Orphan Annie.
”

I began to count the pennies and then the nickels and the dimes and the quarters. I knew at that precise moment, like Dobbs used to know things, what I was supposed to do with the money in the tin and the money I still had from my earnings at Mr. Saxton's and from my own photography sales—I'd give it all to Dobbs to help pay for Coobie's treatment.

So I stayed on the floor counting the change and scribbling figures in my little notebook and then letting the coins slip from my hands back into the tin. By the time Barbara came into the room, ready for bed, I had reached a hundred and forty-three dollars. It was a start.

I stared at the four framed photos of our old home, which now hung on the wall in this room. I brushed my hand over them and figuratively waved good-bye. I let the dream of once again owning the house my father and grandfather built die softly beside me. But somehow, it seemed like a very sweet death.

———

On Tuesday, I told the Seminary girls about the Dillards' predicament. Peggy immediately called a special meeting of the Phi Pis after school; she was at her best leading troops into battle, planning strategy. “Okay, girls, I propose we set up a dance marathon on a Saturday in March to raise money for Coobie.”

“Oh, that is just a perfect idea! It's all the rage now!” said Macon, and to illustrate, she started dancing around the room with a make-believe partner, shaking her red hair and moving her hands all around. Gradually the other girls joined in, giggling and twirling around and around. Later, they buzzed with ideas for other projects they could set up during the month to help raise money, and Mae Pearl leaned over and whispered to me, “Perri, you were right. It just might work.”

Dobbs

Hank stayed in Atlanta all that week, looking for a job. Every day I greeted him at breakfast and we chatted together at times, but it seemed so very artificial, as if we were both on our tiptoes, trying to decipher the other's thoughts, the other's heart. Every day, I measured Hank against Atlanta, Andrew Morrison, Georgia Tech, and the country club.

I had wanted both worlds, and then, suddenly, it seemed as if I could have them.

It was on the last Saturday in February—a glorious day, sunny and unseasonably warm, spring perfuming the property. Hank found me helping Parthenia in the kitchen. “May I borrow Mary Dobbs for a little while, Parthenia? I need to talk to her.”

Parthenia gave a big, openmouthed smile, curtsied, and said, “Why of course you kin, Mista Hank. She's only here keepin' me company. I kin fix lunch all by myself.”

His expression told me he had something serious on his mind. It scared and excited me at the same time.

We walked toward the lake, side by side, and when we got to the bench where we'd sat the first day Hank was in Atlanta, he motioned for me to sit down. He stood there in front of me, a half frown on his face. “I've been offered a job,” he began. “With Coca-Cola. Here in Atlanta.”

I gave a little gasp, and my eyes got wide.

“Your uncle's done so much for me, setting me up with interviews, and well, it looks like they want to hire me. It won't pay much at first, but there's opportunity to move up in the company.”

“Oh, Hank! That's wonderful! It's the best news I've heard in a long, long time!” I almost got up to hug him, but then I realized that he wasn't smiling. He still had that serious look on his face, and I didn't know if he even heard me.

“So I wanted to know what you're thinking about us, Mary Dobbs. About you and me. I won't lie to you. This job isn't what I want the most, but it is a fine opportunity, and I'll take it, if . . . if you're thinking of staying down here. I've heard you're considering college.” His voice cracked the slightest bit. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm still mighty fond of you, Dobbs, and I told you I'd wait for you, and I will. Only, if you're not interested in me and you're not staying in Atlanta, well, I don't think there's much here for me.”

Miss Emma had asked me twice to consider attending Agnes Scott College in Atlanta. Now it would all work out so well. I could stay with my aunt and uncle, go to college, and still have Hank right beside me. “Oh, it's perfect. Perfect! I was so afraid we'd be poor forever, but if you work for Coke and stay in Atlanta . . . it will be divine!”

He gave me a stiff smile, and then I realized what I'd said. “Not divine, Hank. But it would be mighty fine.”

He sat down on the bench beside me, and I kept imagining our life with money, with friends, us living close to Perri. Hank in Atlanta. Hank listening to Dr. Marshall. Hank influencing the important business people. Hank with me. I reached over, squeezed his hand, and thought to myself that some things were working out right after all.

———

“Isn't it over-the-top wonderful, Perri? Hank's gotten a job with Coca-Cola. He's staying in Atlanta, and it's got all kinds of potential to turn into something big.”

“That's a good thing, I suppose,” Perri said, but she didn't sound one bit excited for me. “I never got the feeling that Hank was very interested in making a lot of money.”

“No, he's not, but he's needed a job, and he wants to be with me, and now that I'm thinking of staying in Atlanta next year and going to Agnes Scott, well, it just makes so much sense.”

“It doesn't make a lick of sense to me.”

I was shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Isn't he going to Bible school up in Chicago? Is he just gonna up and quit?”

“No, no . . . I guess he'll just postpone his studies.” Honestly, I had not given that a thought.

Perri was unconvinced. “I don't know much about religion and people having a calling from the Lord—isn't that how you've always put it?—but I've seen Hank with those kids at the revival, and I've heard him preach and seen the fire in his eyes, and if he isn't a called man, I don't know who is.”

I flinched the slightest bit. “He can still preach on weekends if he wants. And he mightn't work for Coca-Cola for years and years. Just for a while.”

“He's decided to stay in Atlanta. For you.”

“Yes, I told you—he said that he wouldn't take the job if I wasn't still interested in him. But I am. I love him. You know that, Perri. I've always loved him.”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “Only, this doesn't seem like love. It seems like something else. It seems, I don't know, calculated—like how I used to be.”

Her words stung. “No, Perri. It's not like that. I promise, it's not.”

She took me by the shoulders and stared straight into my eyes with her see-through-green ones, wrinkled her brow, and said, “You know I just want what's best for you and Hank. That's all.”

Perri

Little by little during the next weeks, the pennies and nickels and dimes and even quarters came in as the Phi Pis went to work raising money for Coobie. Mr. Saxton gave me film, and I took more photos than I thought possible. My photos of the girls at Washington Seminary became so popular that two other schools asked me to photograph their students. On both occasions Parthenia accompanied me. She'd wave to the students and motion them to come over to our little booth and then point to the handwritten sign she'd made that said
Cash for Coobie
and go on and on about what a wonderful little girl Coobie was, and before they knew it, those students were posing for a photograph and paying me a dime.

Macon had the swell idea of asking the boys to pay a nickel for each cookie or brownie they ate while pop-calling at the Phi Pi homes. Andrew, Sam, and even Spalding spread the word, and our houses—even mine—were overflowing with eager college guys who wanted to help a sick little girl.

Hosea brought over a bagful of cash that he'd gotten from the people at his church, and one Sunday St. Luke's took up a special offering for Coobie.

At a Phi Pi meeting, Peggy said, “Didn't you tell us that Dobbs's mother is a genius seamstress? What if we hired her to make our May Fete gowns instead of going to Rich's? That money would help Coobie.”

And before Peggy could bat her fake eyelashes, every senior Phi Pi went to Mrs. Dillard and asked her to make formal gowns for May Day. So Dobbs's mother sat in the chair by Coobie's bed during the day and at the Chandlers' house at night, all the while sewing beautiful gowns for us.

The dance marathon on a Saturday in mid-March brought boys from Oglethorpe, Tech, Emory, and Boys High and girls from Washington Seminary, North Avenue Presbyterian School for Girls, Girls High, and Agnes Scott. We charged a dollar per person to enter, and Lisa got loads of sponsors to give money. Mae Pearl and Sam danced for five hours, and Spalding and I lasted for six and a half, but many other couples danced straight through the day and night. We also auctioned off dates to every imaginable thing, and to my great surprise, I was “bought” three times. Spalding did not protest. In fact, his father contributed three hundred dollars to the Cash for Coobie fund.

There's nothing like uniting for a common goal to draw girls together. While we baked brownies and set up for the dance marathon and collected money during pop-calling, a sweet camaraderie formed between us all, and there was no jealousy or rivalry or pettiness. We were focused on getting two thousand dollars for Coobie.

As the end of March neared, Lisa counted the money and announced, “One thousand two hundred twenty-one dollars and fifty-two cents. That's not counting the money we owe Mrs. Dillard for our dresses, which comes to four hundred and sixty dollars. And the Chandlers have already paid three hundred dollars to start the treatment, so . . .” She paused and calculated. “We're only missing eighteen dollars and forty-eight cents.”

The girls let out a huge yelp, and I ran to tell Mary Dobbs. God had done it! He had done something seemingly impossible.

Dobbs

The treatments made Coobie violently ill to the point where she couldn't even talk.

There were days in school when I could barely concentrate on my lessons. Mother spent every day with Coobie, and after school, I relieved her so that she could go back to the Chandlers', where she sewed dresses for lots of the Seminary girls. I knew the money was trickling in, but honestly, I was too tired to notice.

All I noticed was my little sister wasting away before my eyes.

Hank started his job with Coke and, for the time being, stayed at the Chandlers'. We passed each other in the house and ate meals with the rest of the family just as if Hank had become my protective big brother. No romance, no complicity, just a shroud of worry beating down on us all. He'd come home in the evenings, all sweaty and worn out, and then he'd go out to help Hosea in the fields or Aunt Josie with household affairs. He was everywhere and nowhere, taking care of us from behind the scenes.

When Becca's baby finally arrived, a little girl, her safe arrival perked up the spirits of Aunt Josie and Uncle Robert, and Mother, who went right to work sewing her an adorable dress from leftover pink material from Macon's May Fete gown. For several days, my aunt and uncle and mother navigated the halls of Piedmont Hospital, going from the maternity ward, where life began, to the ward where terribly ill children awaited death.