The River Rose (34 page)

Marvel was terribly sick. Jeanne suffered more anguish than Marvel did. She was so angry even the taste in her mouth was sour. She was so bitter that every conscious thought was pure misery. Always when Marvel had gotten ill, Jeanne had had to deliberately keep herself from letting Marvel see her cry. This time she couldn't cry. She was gentle and tender with Marvel, of course, but she felt that inside she had a leaden weight where her heart used to be.

With an effort she made herself be courteous and grateful to Dr. Eames. He stayed all night the first night, and tried various things to help Marvel keep down the medicines. He gave her sips of barley water, he tried rice gruel, he tried ginger tea, but nothing worked. Finally they were only able to give Marvel small chips of ice to hold in her mouth. She was always desperately thirsty, but if she took even tiny sips of water it came right back up.

At last the dawn came. Jeanne had sat in the armchair all night, her eyes wide and gritty, never feeling the least bit sleepy. Dr. Eames dozed in the other armchair by Marvel's bed. Jeanne watched the gray light of dawn turn into the cheerful yellow sunshine of an August day, streaming unconcernedly through the windows. Jeanne hated it, and wished for night again.

Eames stirred and rubbed his eyes. Then he checked Marvel, who was sleeping, though fitfully. She still had a fever, but it had been several hours since she had vomited. "I don't think we need to try to give her anything else today but the ice chips," he said.

Jeanne nodded. "I know. You'd better go home and rest. Thank you for everything."

He stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. "If you don't get some rest you are going to get sick yourself, Jeanne. I mean it. I told you, Marvel will likely be sick for the next two or three days. You cannot go without sleeping, or without eating, for four days. You won't be doing Marvel any good at all."

"How can I eat when the thought of food makes me sick? And how can I possibly make myself go to sleep? I feel like any minute I'm going to jump up and start screaming and not be able to stop!"

He considered her for long moments, then went to his bag and pulled out a small flat bottle. "This is brandy, and don't look at me like that, Jeanne. This is definitely for medicinal purposes. I want you to drink a very small glass of it, what's commonly known as a shot. Then eat. Then take another shot, and lie down and go to sleep. If you won't agree to do that, then I'm going to come back and
make
you do it."

Jeanne felt rebellious, but then realized that there was no reason to argue with him. "All right, I will," she said dully. "In a little while."

He grimaced, then left without saying anything. He came back with a mattress from one of the crew bunks, a pillow, and clean linens. "Here's your bed. Ezra is fixing you some soup, and I want you to go to the door and answer it when he brings it to you. Apparently this is not a drinking man's boat, because there's no shot glass on board, so here is a coffee mug. Look. I'm pouring out one, two, three. That's a shot." He handed it to her. "It's good brandy, sip it, don't gulp it. If there's any change, have them ring the Big Bell. Otherwise, I'll be back this afternoon."

Jeanne barely noticed when he left, for she was lost in thought. And dark thoughts they were, indeed.

How could You let this happen, God? It's not fair! She's an innocent child! Why not me, or someone, anyone else? You have to heal her, You have to make her well!

Even through the rage she felt, Jeanne knew this wasn't right, but she had forgotten how to pray.
All right, I know I'm saying this all wrong, God, but please, help me. I can't stand it if Marvel dies, I couldn't live! I know that since we've been doing better, with the
Helena Rose
and all, I haven't been as close to You as I used to be. I know I've been ignoring You, and I'm sorry! Just
please heal Marvel, and I swear I'll come back to You. I promise I'll do better, I'll be better!

Jeanne had been a Christian a long time, and she wasn't a fool. She knew this was attempting to bargain with God—no, worse, she knew she was actually trying to bribe Him. The realization of her folly only made her feel worse. Now she was not only angry with Clint Hardin, and with God, but she was angry at herself. She didn't even try to overcome it. She gave up. The room may have been lit with glorious light, but Jeanne saw only the blackness of her own soul.

The next two days were just like the first. It was all a long nightmare to Jeanne, of bathing Marvel, watching her sleep, giving her ice chips, watching with sickening dread every time her fever rose and when she vomited. Dr. Eames came and went. Jeanne flatly refused to see anyone else, except when Ezra brought her food. Then she took it without saying a word. She completely lost track of time. She ate robotically, slept when she couldn't stay awake any longer. And she kept railing at God.

On the fourth morning after Marvel had gotten sick, Jeanne started awake with a jolt. She sat up on her thin mattress, bewildered, and looked around. She had been having an evil dream, but she couldn't remember what it was, but a lingering sense of dread assailed her.

"Hello, Mama."

Jeanne bounded to her feet and went to the bedside. Marvel was looking up at her, and her eyes were clear, not fever-dulled. "Did you say something?" Jeanne asked tremulously.

"I said, 'Hello, Mama,'" she replied in a weak half-whisper.

"Oh, child!" Jeanne half-picked her up and caressed her in her arms. Her body was treacherously limp, and she could feel Marvel's rib bones right through her nightdress, but she wasn't hot. "Oh, baby, do you feel better?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm awfully thirsty, though."

Jeanne laid her back down on the pillow and said, "I know, sweetheart. For right now you'd better just suck on some ice, okay?"

Jeanne sat on the bed, putting small ice chips in Marvel's mouth. She was so weak she could barely lift her hands. Marvel asked, "I've been really sick, haven't I? How long have I been sick?"

"I'm not sure," Jeanne said with an attempt at lightness. "It seems like a long, long time to me. But I think it's only been three days."

"Where are we?"

"We're at Widow Eames' Landing. Remember where we came after we got stuck in the swamp? Dr. Eames lives here, and he's been taking very good care of you."

"He's nice," Marvel said. "He's got a nice smile."

A single soft knock sounded just then, Dr. Eames' signal, and he came in. He smiled when he saw Marvel, but Jeanne noticed that he didn't seem at all surprised that she was better. "Good morning, ladies. So, I see you're feeling better this morning, Miss Marvel." He sat on the bed and took her hand.

"I do. Can—may I have some water?" she pleaded.

"Sure, but I want you to sip it, not gulp it, okay?"

Jeanne fixed her a tumbler full of water and put some ice chips in it. Marvel sipped obediently, then fell back onto the pillows. "Gunness, I can't even sit up."

"You've been very sick, and that makes you weak," Eames said gravely. "But I tell you what. If you'll try to eat, you'll get stronger. In fact, I have a little surprise for you. My mother sent you some rice flummery. She used to make it all the time for me when I was sick, and it always made me feel so much better."

Marvel's eyes brightened a little. "Rice flummery? I like that name. It sounds fun."

"It does, doesn't it? Now first I'm going to examine you, and then it'll be time for rice flummery." He proceeded to examine her thoroughly. She still was very pale, and her eyes were still slightly jaundiced. But her skin was cool. When he was finished he smiled at her. "No fever, and your tummy's not making angry noises like it was. I think you can have all you want to drink now, of whatever you want to drink."

"More water, please. And may I have some apple cider? With my rice flummery?"

"You certainly may," he answered. "Is there anything else you want right now?"

She looked over at Jeanne. "Mama, would it be all right if Roberty and Leo came to see me? And Ezra and Mr. Vince and Mr. Clint?"

"No," Jeanne said vehemently.

Dr. Eames said soothingly, "Marvel, let me explain something to you. You remember I told you that you have yellow fever? Well, it's contagious. That means that other people who haven't had it before can catch it from you. I know you're better, but we need to wait for two days before we let other people come around. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she sighed, then she brightened. "But Mr. Clint has had it before. I remember you told me, Mama. He could come see me, couldn't he?"

"No, Marvel, I just want you to stay in here and rest today. I'll stay with you, darling, and maybe if you feel better later we can play with your dolls," Jeanne said tightly.

"Okay. But Dr. Eames, can dogs catch yellow fever?" she asked hopefully.

Jeanne blurted out, "No, Marvel, I said—" She realized that she sounded like what she was at the moment—an angry, cold woman. Eames was watching her curiously. Lamely, she went on, "So, Dr. Eames, can dogs catch yellow fever? Even if the patient kisses them on the big grinning slobbering mouth?"

He smiled a little and rose. "No, dogs can't catch it. I'll bet Leo would be glad to see you both. Just don't let him eat your rice flummery, Marvel. That dog is the best beggar I've ever seen. C'mon, Jeanne, come with me and we'll go get Marvel her food and Leo."

Jeanne followed him to the galley, and he pulled out two stools. "Sit down for a minute, Jeanne."

Her eyes narrowed. She had purple shadows under them so deep that they looked bruised. She was as pale as Marvel, and her prominent cheekbones stuck out sharply, her cheeks deeply hollowed beneath them. Her hair was an untidy mess, and she hadn't changed her clothes, and her blouse was soiled. She sat down jerkily. "Something's wrong. I knew it."

"Maybe, maybe not," Eames said calmly. "I do have something to tell you; it is perhaps the most difficult thing about this disease. Marvel is better today, and she may be cured. All yellow fever patients are better after three or four days. On the next day, after what's called the remission stage, some go on to the third stage of the disease."

"And what is that?" Jeanne asked in a choked voice.

Evenly he answered, "It's called the intoxication phase. The patients very suddenly worsen, with fever so high it can cause convulsions and delirium. They may get nauseated and vomit. The jaundice gets worse, so the skin turns yellow."

"And that's when they die," Jeanne said with gritted teeth. "She's better today! She has to be cured! Why would you tell me this, Jacob? What good could it possibly do? Why would you say such horrible things?"

His gentle features were a study in pain. "Jeanne, I struggle with this every single time I have a patient with yellow fever, particularly children. If the patient is an adult, of course I must tell them, even though I feel that they are cured. But with children, if I don't tell their parents I would be criminally wrong. Surely you see that?"

She stared at him with burning eyes.

He went on, "I want you to listen to me carefully, Jeanne. Marvel came through this very well, considering that she is small and thin and delicate. Today she may be completely free from yellow fever. If she isn't, we'll know by morning. And even if she does go into the intoxication phase, she may live through it. Yellow fever is very frightening because large numbers of people contract the disease, all at the same time. But out of all of the people that get it, very few of them die."

"Yes, well, it's also frightening because you may be one of the few that dies," Jeanne said sharply. "You sound as if you have no idea whether Marvel is cured or if she's still sick, and will go into this third stage. Is that true?"

"That's true, Jeanne. I have no idea. Some patients who seem completely recovered during remission go into the intoxication phase. Others who are still jaundiced and nauseated get better, and never go into the third phase."

Jeanne jumped to her feet and stood over him. "We're not talking about some patients, we're talking about my daughter! As far as I can see, you are practically useless! You have medicine, but it may not work. Yes, give her medicine, but no, she's vomiting so don't give her medicine. She may be cured, or she may die. You don't know anything!"

He stood up and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I do know some things, Jeanne. I know that Marvel is in the Lord's hands, as we all are. She is calm and free from fear, and has been all through this, and that is a miracle of God. I know that she's better today, and she has joy in her spirit, I can see it. None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. Be joyful with Marvel, Jeanne, for this is the day that the Lord hath made."

Her shoulders sagged, and her head drooped. "I will try," she said in a ragged whisper. "Maybe she is going to be fine. So I'll try. For Marvel."

DR
.
EAMES WENT DOWN to the boiler room. Roberty and Ezra were playing checkers, with Leo sleeping by their upturned cracker boxes. Through the open double doors to the engine room he heard Vince and Clint's low voices. "I've got some good news for you," he said. Roberty jumped up and went to get Vince and Clint. When they were all together Eames went on, "Marvel is much better today. Right now she's eating my mother's rice flummery, and if that doesn't cure all her ills nothing will."