glances up and sees Lillie struggling. “Charles, wipe your hands and go help your mother with the laundry. Frances, you too.”
Lillie is glad for the reinforcements. She has Charley Boy grab the other side of the sheet, while Francie hands them the clothespins. The wind has truly kicked up by now, making the sheets even harder to handle. They are on the third one when the first fat raindrops start to fall. This time, Lillie really does groan, knowing how far behind this will put the household before the week has even begun. Charley starts to herd the younger children toward the house, and Ferd hands Tommy back to her so that he and the two children can take the sheets down again and wrestle the basket back inside. As she hurries to the house, Lillie looks back at the dark, swollen clouds, surprised that she has not seen the storm coming.
cd
Surviving a rainy Sunday afternoon in a houseful of thirteen people takes skill and cunning. The best strategy is to get as many children as possible up into the attic, where there are endless objects to rifle through and games to make up: forts to build out of old furniture and blankets, clothes to try on, odd equipment in wooden cases to wonder at. Emma sends Margaret and Francie up to keep an eye on the little ones; Ferd carries Jeanie up the ladder and puts her directly under Francie’s care. Then he, Eleanor, and Charley Boy take the wet laundry down to the cellar to hang on the lines down there. It’s not an ideal solution, since the laundry always picks up the dust and dirt that permanently hang in the cellar air, and the faint scent of coal dust, mold, and something feral like cat urine or mouse droppings. But it is far better than allowing the wet sheets and clothes to molder while waiting for nice weather. In the kitchen, Emma and Charley work together to complete preparations for Sunday dinner. The roast has been in the oven since just after breakfast, and while Charley Beck prepares his legendary sauerkraut, Emma visits the work crew in the cellar to bring up the last of the green beans they canned in the summer. The early season vegetables and fruit are already starting to grace the dinner table, a wonderful gift after a winter of preserved produce, but she may as well clear the shelves of last year’s inventory.
Ferd leaves Eleanor and Charley Boy to finish hanging up the smaller items and goes to look for Lillie, who is notably absent. He finds her in the quiet parlor, just as she finishes nursing the sleepy, heavy-lidded baby.
“Can you take him upstairs for me?” she asks quietly. “I think I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.” She breathes in deeply and coughs.
He looks at her as he cradles his sleeping youngest child—youngest for now. His voice drops low. “Is it the baby?”
She startles before she realizes the source of his concern—that perhaps she is at the start of another hard pregnancy. Most go smoothly, but a few have been difficult. “I’m just not feeling like myself today. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.” He continues to look at her, unconvinced. “Truly, dearest.” Resigned, he leans down to kiss her forehead, then takes Tommy upstairs to the crib in Charley and Emma’s bedroom. Lillie leans her head back into the sofa, taking long, painful breaths, and closes her eyes.
She wakes to the clamor of children and pots, dinner preparation obviously almost complete and the pre-meal frenzy in full swing. She notes that the rain has slowed to a drizzle, but that the cloud cover makes the light of the early afternoon look almost like dusk.
“Mother?” Johnny is standing beside the sofa. He looks uncertain, never before having seen Lillie nap; he rarely even sees her sit down for more than a few minutes at a time. “Gramal said I was to come wake you for dinner.”
She smiles at him, still drowsy, but the pain that radiates through her body as she shifts wakes her up quickly. When she draws in a breath, she actually makes a wheezing noise. Now Johnny’s eyes are big and scared.
She smiles again in reassurance and says softly, “Come here, sweetie,” as she takes his hand and draws him to her. “Give your old mother a kiss.” He leans in and kisses her cheek, then sits down beside her and snuggles into her as she puts her arm around him. She works to keep her breathing quiet while they sit for just a moment, but then, gently, she shrugs him out of her embrace and says, “Tell Gramal I’m not hungry. You all go ahead and eat your dinner.”
Disappointed at the briefness of the moment, he nonetheless stands up. “Yes, Mother,” he says, and then runs back into the kitchen.
She tips her head back again—it seems easier to breathe that way—but lifts it up when she hears heavier footsteps through the dining room into the parlor. It is Emma; seconds later, she is followed by Ferd and then Charley. With some alarm, Lillie realizes that the children have been left with no adult supervision.
Emma and Ferd look at her with obvious concern, while Charley hangs back a bit, rubbing his forehead hard with his fingertips. He curses himself for not having gone for Dr. Cavanaugh this morning, and for allowing Lillie to make him promise not to say anything. Well, there’s nothing for it now. He moves to sit beside her and nods once.
Lillie’s shoulders slump, but she looks up at them as she says, “I fell this morning. On the cellar steps.”
The noises of protest and alarm start almost at her second word, “Why didn’t you tell me? Are you hurt?” competing with, “I knew there was something worse going on!” Emma has been duped, and she turns her outrage on Lillie’s obvious confidante. “You knew and you said nothing?”
“Mother, I asked him not to say anything. Since I knew you would both make a fuss.” She rolls her eyes at Charley to make her point, but then wheezes and coughs, holding one side to dull the throbbing ache in her ribcage. “Beside, I didn’t hurt anything when I fell. I didn’t even sprain my ankle. I’m just sore.”
“Why have you been breathing hard and coughing all day, then?” Emma demands.
“I’ve obviously gotten a cough from one of the children. It’s just that the coughing makes it all hurt worse.” There is silence, until Lillie says, “Please go eat dinner. It’s a wonder the children haven’t set fire to the kitchen yet.” More quietly, she says, “But Ferd, can you help me upstairs first?”
Charley pats her knee as he stands up; Emma isn’t moving, but he takes her by the elbow and walks her back through the dining room. Ferd helps Lillie from the sofa, and she holds tight to his arm as they make their way through the hall and up the steps. They needed to pause on the landing for Lillie to catch her breath. Finally in the bedroom, she leans on Ferd as he eases her to sit on the bed, then he kneels down to slip off her shoes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, dearest,” she says quietly. “I just didn’t want to worry you, and I truly didn’t think it was anything. I still don’t. It’s just one thing to know you’re going to ache all over, and another thing to actually feel it.”
He looks up at her as he slips off the second shoe and she smiles at him. He wants to be stern because he is still upset with her, but cannot keep from smiling back. “Do you want to lie down?” He turns to get her nightdress from the hook, but she stops him.
“Maybe soaking in the bath with some Epsom salts will help, with both the cough and the ache.”
He helps her back up again, and into the bathroom, where she sits on the closed lid of the toilet, wheezing a little and coughing every so often, while he starts the bathwater and retrieves the salts from the linen closet. He helps her out of her clothes and into the hot bath, where she lays her head back and breathes in the steam. She coughs hard several times, but then quiets down. Ferd sits on the rolled lip of the big tub, gently stroking Lillie’s hair, which is still pinned up as it always is during the day. With her eyes closed, Lillie smiles, and feels her
