The despair knotted in my belly, leaving me to cast my eyes away, afraid to witness the disappointment in hers.
She sat down on the bed and grasped my hand, tucking locks of hair behind my ears, fussing over me. “Such a fright you gave me.”
Feeling her gentle touch, I sorely missed my mama, the heaviness landing, leaving me wrecked with homesickness. My shoulders quaked as I fought back tears.
“Shh,” Mrs. Claxton soothed and drew me into her arms, stroking my hair.
I sobbed softly, unable to hold back the months of loneliness. Mounting heartbreak. The losses had piled on and were still being stacked, and I was toppling under the crushing weight.
When she finally eased us apart, she said, “How is she, Susan?”
“She won’t allow us to do tests,” her niece said as she passed tissues to me.
“Hear now, Cussy, it’s only a pinch, and then as soon as we see the doctor, I can get you home,” the librarian promised. “I know a certain pup that’s been watching out the window, waiting for her friend.”
“I’ve been poked all my life. Ever since I was a babe, doctors have been trying to snatch pieces of me, force examinations on me. Even holding me down and stripping off my necessaries in the big Lexington hospital!” I blurted, suddenly struck by a stabbing pain to my head.
Alarm flashed across Susan’s eyes. “You need to stay calm. You’re safe here.” She rubbed my arm. “I won’t hurt you or take away your undergarments, I promise.”
“Cussy, Susan always keeps her word,” Mrs. Claxton said. “She’s smart and won’t harm a hair on your pretty head.”
Otilia echoed her words.
After a few more pleas and several more promises, I agreed and held up my arm. The nurse took blood; checked my temperature, eyes, and ears; cleaned and swabbed my banged-up legs with the stinging Mercurochrome antiseptic.
“Mrs. Claxton…” I looked down at my ripped skirt. “I lost your change purse. I’m sorry.”
“It was yours once I gave it to you. Don’t fuss it. We can always get another, but never another like you.”
In between checking my limbs for any sprains or breaks, Susan wrote down notes on a clipboard. “How’s your headache, hon?”
“It still hurts some, Susan.”
“I’ll bring you a Coca-Cola until the doctor can prescribe medication. That usually helps a headache.” She pressed down on my belly and then placed her stethoscope against it, leaving me squirming and the baby suddenly awakening with a faint quiver. Susan turned away to scribble down more notes. I felt the child lightly stir.
The babe was alive.I squeezed back a tear.
Susan reached inside the apothecary cabinet and passed me a paper cup. “If you could go into the lavatory and give me a urine sample, we’ll be done,” she said cheerfully. “Likely, the doctor will send you home with pain medication, but he’ll need to check your test results first.”
I started to ask why, when Otilia grabbed my arm. She andMrs. Claxton helped me to the tiny washroom tucked on the other side of the room.
When I handed her back the sample, Susan said, “We’ll get these tests, and then the doctor will stop by to see you.” A few minutes later, she came back into the room and pulled out a tall tray at the end of the bed, rolled it over my lap, and left a glass of Coca-Cola with crushed ice. “Drink up. Doctor’s orders.”
Mrs. Claxton settled into a chair beside my bed, thanked Otilia, and sent her home.
“If you need anything, here’s Miss Johnna’s telephone number, Mrs. Claxton,” Otilia said, slipping her a note. Mrs. Claxton firmly wagged her head as if she’d rather not pursue the acquaintance. Still, Otilia pushed it into her hand. “Get well, Miss Cussy.”
***
A few hours before midnight, I bolted upright from the bed when the doctor and nurse entered the room. Mrs. Claxton slumped in the hospital chair beside me, softly snoring. Susan gently touched her aunt’s shoulder, and she shot up from the chair, blinking her puffy lids.
The doctor listened to my heart and peered into my eyes with a light, lingering. “Pretty peepers—an unusual bluish gray,” he said, then studied the chart. “It looks like you were extremely lucky.”
“Yes, sir. I’m feeling much better.”
“Any nausea or vomiting?”
“I got sick right after the accident. But I’d had too much lemonade.”
