The Waltons 3 - The Easter Story (18 page)

“But Livvy says she’s got some feelin’ in the legs now,” John protested, “A lot more than a week ago.”

Dr. Vance nodded. “That may mean nothing, Mr. Walton. Our sensory nerves can very easily deceive us. Many times people who lose a hand or a leg still have the sensation of feeling, as if they still had the limb. I’m inclined to think that is what your wife is experiencing.”

“But how about the movement?” Grandpa said, “Sometimes Livvy can turn her ankles or lift her knees right up off the bed. We’ve seen it.”

John-Boy knew the statement was only partially true. She had moved her ankles and knees. But just as often he had seen her struggle painfully with no results at all.

“We have to be careful about drawing any conclusions,” Dr. Vance said. “If they are not totally destroyed, some of the nerves will recover to a certain degree. That generally happens with all polio patients. But you should understand, the recovery will be limited by the extent of the nerve damage. In other words, her progress could come to a complete standstill at any time.”

“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep on tryin’,” Grandma said defiantly.

Dr. Vance gazed solemnly across the table at John. “From what I can tell, it’s still not too late to put the leg braces back on, Mr. Walton. The worst possible damage can still be avoided. And I noticed a fine looking wheelchair standing in the hall up there.”

“Mama doesn’t want to use a wheelchair!” John-Boy almost screamed. He was as surprised as everybody else by the anger in his words.

“That’s right,” his father said more calmly, “I don’t think Livvy’ll even consider it until she’s tried everythin’ else. And I agree with her.”

Dr. Vance nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to come to some kind of decision, and brought some papers from his pocket. “I’ve been aware of your decision, of course. And I suspected that no matter what I said today you wouldn’t change it. With that in mind, and thinking that as long as you’re going to continue the treatments, I had Dr. Pierce wire this woman in Australia.”

“Sister Kenny!?”

“Yes. It occurred to me that her techniques might have advanced some since those brochures were printed. In any case, here’s what she sent.” Dr. Vance smiled, aware of the shocked reaction his contradictory actions had created.

“Doc,” John said, “that’s awful nice of you to go to all that trouble.”

“And we appreciate it,” Grandma added.

Dr. Vance rose and got his bag. “Well, if you’re going to do something, I guess you should do it exactly the way you’re supposed to.”

John got quickly to his feet. “I’ll see you out to your car.”

Dr. Vance was parked in front. As they passed through the living room and out the front door, John realized that up until a couple of minutes ago he had not liked Dr. Vance very much. From that moment two weeks ago when the doctor told him to sit down, and then announced that Olivia had polio, it had seemed like Dr. Vance’s only interest in Olivia was to get her into braces and a wheelchair as quickly as possible. But it was clear enough now that he was not as stubborn and narrow-minded as he appeared.

“Doc,” John said when they reached the car, “I think maybe I owe you an apology. Your sendin’ off for those instructions was a generous thing to do.”

Dr. Vance nodded as if he had been fully aware of the antagonism. “We all make mistakes, Mr. Walton,” he said quietly. “And maybe I was wrong.” He put his bag in the car, but stood for a minute, frowning thoughtfully. “I’m concerned about your wife. But I’ll confess, I’m also a little puzzled.”

“How so?”

“There are a lot of unusual aspects to her case. In fact, I talked to Dr. Miller at Boatwright College the other day, and he agreed with me. For one thing, her being able to sit up so quickly after the initial sickness. Generally, the attack is so severe the patient is left almost totally helpless for a considerable length of time.”

“You mean it’s possible she doesn’t have polio?”

“No, I don’t think there’s any question about her having had the disease. But it could be a matter of degree. It’s like any other disease—some people’s natural defenses fight off the invasions more successfully. It is possible, and there have been instances like this, where the attack on the nervous system stopped just short of doing permanent damage. Such cases are rare, but they happen.”

“But wouldn’t she be better by now?”

“Not necessarily. The attack could still have been severe enough that it would take some time for the nerves to recover. It’s like getting a hard blow on an arm or leg. The bones might not be broken, or the ligaments torn. But the muscles could be so bruised and swollen the limb would still be useless. In that case the recovery would be only a matter of time.”

John’s hopes rose cautiously. My God, he thought, what wouldn’t he do to have Olivia be one of those rare cases.

“It’s hard to know what is the right thing to do,” Dr. Vance went on, “If the nerves are destroyed—and in most instances this is the case—then the best thing is to put the splints back on and protect the limbs from excessive deformity. If the nerves are not destroyed, it still wouldn’t hurt to have the splints on. That’s why I feel it would be the safest procedure. On the other hand, if the nerves aren’t destroyed, the Sister Kenny treatment won’t hurt either. In fact it would probably be good for her.”

“But there’s no way of telling for certain if the nerves have been destroyed?”

Dr. Vance thought a minute and shook his head. “Perhaps in a hospital more delicate tests could be made. But even then it would be hard to tell if a nerve is really dead, or only temporarily numbed. No, I think it’s a matter of time, Mr. Walton. And maybe prayer. But what we’ll be praying for is something that’s already happened.” He smiled. “I guess it’s like waiting for the results of a baseball game that was played two weeks ago. We’re not praying for them to win, but to hear that they won.”

“You mean what we do now won’t make any difference?”

“It’ll make a great deal of difference if she was lucky two weeks ago. If the nerves are still alive, I think the Sister Kenny treatments will help them come out of shock, so to speak.” He got in the car and smiled. “I’m going to pray that she was lucky.”

John watched him drive off—uncertain if he was encouraged, or more depressed than before. They were gambling. And from what Dr. Vance said, the odds were heavily against them. But for the sake of everyone else in the family, John could see no other choice but to gamble that Olivia had won.

The papers the doctor had left contained detailed instructions for the massaging of the legs, along with day-by-day schedules for heat applications. Altogether, they were not a great deal different from what they were doing already. But they swept away any doubts, and gave everyone a new sense of determination.

Although no one mentioned the subject out loud, it was clear that everybody at school knew about Mrs. Claybourne’s accusations. What relieved John-Boy was that almost everyone seemed to be on their side. “That Amelia Claybourne is stupid,” kids would remark casually. Or, “Martha Rose Coverdale is over there shootin’ off her big mouth again.”

These indirect expressions of support were reassuring for the Waltons. But they still didn’t solve the problem. And what made it worse, the only place they could discuss it with any freedom was walking to and from school.

“What’re we gonna do, John-Boy?”

“I don’t know. I reckon we’ll just have to wait till Sheriff Bridges finds out what happened to the silver.”

“What if he never finds out?”

That was the worst thing that could happen, and the question that nagged at John-Boy.

“If you ask me,” Jim-Bob said, “the Claybournes probably got all that silver hidden in their basement or something.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because they’re mean,” Elizabeth said.

“Nobody’d be that mean.”

“Amelia would,” Erin said. “I wish she’d never come to our school. Why didn’t she just stay in her old fancy private school down in Richmond?”

“They probably kicked her out.” Jason muttered.

“Yeah, she’s so dumb,” Ben added.

It was odd, John-Boy reflected, that the Claybournes had taken Amelia out of private school, particularly in the middle of the school year. That might be something to think about.

X

“I
don’t know, John-Boy. I’m not sure I can go through with this.”

“Why not? It’ll only take a minute. C’mon, Ben, we gotta do somethin’ to try and help Daddy.”

“They’re probably not even home.”

John-Boy gave Ben an impatient look. It was obvious there was someone home—at least Stuart Lee. His roadster was parked right at the top of the driveway.

They had approached the house from the far side, where the woods came to the edge of the big circular driveway. From there they had crept through the shrubs almost to the corner of the house, and then ducked behind a low hedge.

John-Boy had proposed the idea to Ben early in the morning, before they left for school. The more John-Boy thought about it, the stranger it seemed—if the Claybournes were so all-fired rich and snooty, why had they taken their only daughter out of private school? The only conclusion that made any sense, was that maybe the Claybournes weren’t so all-fired rich. Maybe, like everyone else in the world these days, they were having money problems. If that was so, maybe it had something to do with the disappearance of the silver.

“You mean you think they stole it themselves?” Ben had asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve got insurance on it, or somethin’.”

“Well, if they’re so poor, how could they buy insurance?”

John-Boy hadn’t considered that. But he still thought it was a good idea to find out just how rich or poor they were. And if Ben went to their door and tried to sell them some magazine subscriptions, maybe he could just find out.

Ben had no faith in the plan at all. But he agreed to take his canvas bag and a few magazines to school. From there they went directly to the Claybournes’.

“The worst thing that can happen,” John-Boy told him now, “is that they’ll just say no.”

“What good will that do us? They could still be the richest people in the world and say no. In fact with them thinkin’ Daddy took their stupid silver they’ll probably throw me down the porch steps.”

“They won’t do that.”

Ben wasn’t so sure. He gazed silently through the hedge and up at the big house, his heart already beginning to pound against his ribs. He knew very well it wasn’t going to work. He and John-Boy were crazy to come within five miles of this place.

He looked at the yellow roadster parked in front, then at the steps, and finally at the big front door. He also knew very well that John-Boy would stand here in the mud forever before he would let him go home. Ben took a deep breath and rose. “OK,” he said unsteadily.

Once he straightened, he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and made sure there was a magazine ready to pull out. He took another long breath, stepped out from behind the hedge and marched steadily forward.

At the door he pressed the electric bell, and then out of nervousness he pounded the big brass knocker. As quickly as he did it he wished he hadn’t. It sounded like there was someone angry and impatient at the door.

When the door opened, Ben’s heart almost stopped beating. The worst person possible was standing there—Amelia.

“Well!” she said.

“Uh—hi. I’d like to see your brother, please.”

She looked surprised, as if she didn’t know what to do for a minute. But she opened the door a little wider and Ben moved quickly inside.

“What do you want to see him about?”

Ben opened his mouth to answer, but found himself gaping at the big staircase, his heart racing wildly. Mrs. Claybourne was coming down, glaring coldly at him.

“Amelia—go to your room, please.”

Amelia shrugged and moved off. Ben stood paralyzed as the woman came toward him.

“Young man, I think it is inappropriate for you to appear at this house under the present circumstances.”

Ben had no idea how to respond. Then words were tumbling breathlessly from his mouth. “Mrs. Claybourne, I’m here to offer you a unique opportunity. A very small group of people in our community has been selected to—”

“I’m afraid you didn’t hear me correctly, young man! I think you had better—”

“But ma’am, I represent four of the finest periodicals now bein’ published in this country, and for a limited time only—”

“Stuart Lee? Stuart Lee, please come in here.” Mrs. Claybourne moved to a big open door at the side. Stuart Lee appeared as quickly as she got there.

“What is it, Mama?” He saw Ben and smiled. “Hello, Ben.”

“Son, would you please explain to this child that he is not welcome here until the situation concerning his family is cleared up?”

Ben had an urge to turn and bolt through the front door, but his legs were quivering too much for him to trust them. Stuart Lee looked embarrassed.

“I’ll talk to Ben, Mama.”

“I knew you’d take care of it, dear.” Mrs. Claybourne smiled and continued through the door.

“I’m sorry, Ben. My mother is a little upset today.”

“That’s OK.” Ben suddenly remembered that he hadn’t pulled a magazine from his bag. He slid one out. “I just came because of this unique opportunity I have to offer. You see, for a limited time, I’m able to make an exceptional offer. It’s four magazines for five dollars. Delivered right here to your door.”

Stuart Lee glanced at the magazine. “Ben, I don’t think this is a good time to talk business.” He moved toward the front door. “Thank you for the opportunity, but we really can’t afford—we really don’t need any magazines.”

Ben stared at him, his heart now almost leaping into his mouth. John-Boy was right! It was exactly as he said. Stuart Lee almost said they couldn’t afford to buy any magazines, but then caught himself and changed it. Ben stared incredulously, looking at Stuart Lee from head to foot. The door was now open and Stuart Lee was smiling at him. Ben edged past, putting the magazine away. “Well, thank you very much, Stuart Lee.”