Unmentionables. Laurie Loewenstein

      TOSSING A RAIN-SOAKED CUSHION ASIDE, Dr. Jack collapsed into a porch chair, his head tipped back, eyes closed. He tried to catnap, but quickly snapped upright. Where was Hazel Bellman with that coffee?

      It had been a long night in the house at the edge of the Chautauqua grounds. A cannon of thunder had awakened Hazel Bellman in the early-morning hours. Poking her head into Jeannette’s room, she’d been stunned to find the bed empty, stripped of blankets and pillows. She hurried downstairs. The front door was banging against the wall, sheets of rain drenching the carpet. Jeannette was curled in a fetal position on the porch settee, teeth chattering, soaked to the skin. The girl was burning hot. Hazel had screamed for Ted, who rushed down and gathered up their daughter. It had taken Dr. Jack hours of work but eventually he’d knocked down the fever and quieted the coughing so that now the girl slept peacefully.

      Hazel toed open the screen door and stepped out with a loaded tray. She called to her husband, who was collecting branches torn from the wind-lashed maples, but he said he wanted to finish up.

      “Are we past the worst?” she asked, handing Dr. Jack a steaming cup. She always had a mousy look, even at the best of times, but the strain of Jeannette’s illness had pulled down the corners of her mouth until they formed permanent streambeds.

      He sucked a mouthful of coffee between his teeth. “Can’t answer that. What I’m afraid of is pneumonia. That on top of the tuberculosis.” He shook his head.

      Hazel’s knees knocked under her wrapper. “I know. But not the hospital. Please, not that. Every time she goes in, I’m afraid she’ll never come out.”

      Across the Chautauqua grounds, the Story Lady was leading a troop of youngsters in a song. The melody of that old chestnut, “Sunshine Bright,” drifted onto the porch.

      “We got her through the night. Now it’s wait and see.” He gulped down the rest of the coffee and stood. “Got to go, but I’ll stop back later.”

      “You know what she was doing, don’t you? Why she was camped out on the porch?” Hazel asked.

      “I can guess. Jeannette heard last night’s lecture and followed that woman’s recommendation about sleeping out of doors.”

      Hazel nodded. “I could kick myself for letting her listen.”

      Dr. Jack shook his head. “If it’s any comfort, I’ll be doctoring Mrs. Elliot Adams later today and will give her a piece of my mind.”

      * * *

      Two blocks away, Tula knocked twice on the door of the sleeping porch and entered, juggling a cup and saucer in one hand and a rubber ice bag in the other. Although it was midmorning, the room was dim, the shades drawn. Tula set the china and the dripping bag on a rattan table, pushing aside a pile of magazines.

      “I’ve brought some coffee,” she said to the elongated shape humped under a flannel spread. When there was no response, she tapped her patient lightly on the shoulder. “Mrs. Elliot Adams?”

      Marian grunted and rolled onto her back. Her eyes opened and she grimaced. “Oh Lord,” she moaned, reaching toward her lower calf that was entangled in the blanket.

      “Here, let me help.” Tula pulled aside the bedding. The ankle was red and swollen to the thickness of a small pot roast. “Let’s prop it on these pillows, and here’s an ice bag.”

      “Thank you,” Marian mumbled. Squinting like a tabby in the sunlight, she examined her ankle. “I can’t believe this has happened. I should be on the road this very minute. I’ve never missed a lecture.”

      “A Perfect Attender,” Tula said as she sprung the shades.

      “What?”

      Tula waved her hand. “Nothing. Just reminded me of a prize our Sunday school gives out.”

      “I think what I will do,” Marian said slowly, narrowing her eyes as she sipped the coffee, “I’ll hire a driver. He can carry me to Galesburg. After that I’ll manage on my own.”

      “Can I—” Tula was interrupted by the ringing telephone, a long and two shorts. “Excuse me, that’s us.” She hurried through the kitchen. “Coming, coming,” she said.

      The ringing stopped. Through the beadboard walls of the sleeping porch, Marian heard the murmur of Tula’s voice. The lecturer surveyed her surroundings. An ironing board heaped with table linens stood in one corner. Snowshoes, golf clubs, and a croquet set were piled in a dusty jumble before the altar of an overstuffed bookcase. From a random pattern of nails driven beside the door to the kitchen hung a leather driving helmet with goggles, a rusted washboard, and a butterfly net. Tula’s voice ceased; her footsteps approached.

      “Somebody has a lot of interests,” Marian said, waving a hand around the room.

      Tula studied the walls. “That’s mostly Clay.”

      “Your husband?”

      “Oh, no,” Tula said. “He’s my brother. I’m a maiden lady.”

      Marian snorted. “Wise woman. I was married for seven months. Worst seven months of my life. I’ve got very little use for the male species.”

      Tula stifled a smile. “Really? You don’t enjoy their company?”

      “Their company’s fine—for short periods. I just don’t want to be restrained. They hold the reigns right now. But it won’t always be like that. Especially when we get the vote. But enough,” Marian said. “As I was saying, the solution is a driver. Is there someone in this town who does that sort of thing?”

      “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.” Tula pulled a wooden chair to the bedside. “That was Dr. Jack. He’ll be here shortly. You’re to keep that foot elevated and iced until then.”

      “Did you tell him that’s not possible? I’m expected in Galesburg.”

      “He’ll be here soon enough and you can tell him.”

      Marian puffed. “It’s not for him to say, is it? I’ve coped with more than a twisted ankle over the years. This is nothing but a minor annoyance and I’ll tell him so.”

      “You sound just like Winnie.” Tula gazed absently out the window. “She wouldn’t take orders from the doctor either, poor thing.”

      “Who?”

      “My next door neighbor. She passed away . . . well, I guess almost two years ago.”

      Aggressively pushing the pillows at the head of the bed into a mound, Marian threw herself against them. “I’m not going to let any small-town doctor interfere with my work. And on top of that, it’s ungodly hot in here.” She kicked the covers off the bed, sending spasms of pain through her ankle. “Damnit!” she yelped.

      Tula jumped up. “You need to lie still.” She rearranged the pillows under the injured foot, repositioned the ice bag.