Chapter 19 Olivia #2
“Why don’t you ask him?”
His gaze dropped to his feet. “Cause he ain’t talked for two days.”
A catch of breath as her heart collapsed. She couldn’t save Hattie, but maybe she could help this man. “Please, Eli. I only want to help.”
He scanned the trees as if they might offer advice before meeting her eyes again. “You’re gonna need shoes.”
“I’ll get boots,” she said. “And a bowl of milk toast for your grandfather.”
Once the last three slices of her loaf were toasted, she covered them with the remaining condensed milk, then wrapped the bowl in parchment paper.
Eli led her around the lake and past the cemetery she hadn’t visited since the moonflowers shed their petals.
When she used to take flowers, she always came home to Hattie, but now that her beloved aunt had joined Olivia’s husband and daughter, it pained her even more to spend time among the stones.
Eli’s pace quickened as they stepped off the soggy path, the ground riddled with branches and padded by leaves as they moved deeper into the forest. She’d never explored the woods beyond the cemetery, but she owned much of this land, passed down from Graham’s family.
Where the Ashe property line ended, she wasn’t certain.
A small clearing ahead was littered with planks from a fence in disrepair, and on the opposite side stood a rundown cabin, its shingles sodden with moss. Like one of the mining cabins she’d written about in her books.
Abandoned, she’d think, except smoke curled from a chimney tilting so far right that it looked as if it might tumble. And someone had planted a garden beside a weathered shelter for firewood, the plants now brickle and brown.
The front door creaked as Eli opened it. “We got company, Pops.”
The fire inside crackled near a bedridden man, his body covered by an afghan mottled with holes. While Eli’s grandfather still breathed, the room smelled like death had already begun knocking on its door.
Fresh air flooded the room when Olivia opened a window. “How long has he been like this?”
“Don’t know exactly, but he’s gettin’ worse. Won’t eat a bite of what I bring him.”
“Let me try the toast,” she offered, but Eli shook his head.
And she understood. If she had been home during Aunt Hattie’s final hours, she would have insisted on feeding the woman who had spent much of her life caring for her.
As Eli cut the soft bread with a fork, Olivia reached for his grandfather’s arm, the veins striped blue and green under a layer as transparent and tender as onion skin. His pulse barely registered, a flutter against her thumb instead of a tick. Without medical care, he wasn’t long for this world.
“Please, Pops,” Eli whispered as he lifted the man’s head, trying to feed him the forkful of toast. No matter how the boy coaxed, the elderly man wouldn’t open his mouth.
“What’s his name?” Olivia asked.
“Abram Manning. He had a farm around here.”
And probably lost it like so many others during the Great Depression. One didn’t have the luxury of becoming ill when mouths begged to be fed.
“He needs a doctor,” Olivia said, even though she feared a doctor could do little for him now.
Eli shook his head. “We ain’t got no money for a doctor.”
“I’ll pay the bill,” she insisted.
“We don’t take—”
“Charity, I know, but I couldn’t help my aunt earlier this year. Please let me help your Pops.”
He weighed the idea until his grandfather reached out and took his hand. The older man didn’t speak, but Eli seemed to understand. “We thank you for your kindness.”
“He’ll see a doctor?”
Eli nodded slowly, resigned to the idea of more charity when he preferred none. This boy who fought hard for his grandfather alone would grow into a reliable man. One who could be trusted.
“Very good,” she said. “Now how to guide Dr. Blackwell back here . . .”
“I’ll help you.”
The afternoon passed in a flurry. Dr. Blackwell asked her neighbor Garrett Lamb for help, and within the hour, Mr. Lamb brought a horse, both of his sons, and a sled that would serve as a stretcher.
The transportation of Mr. Manning was a messy affair, but they padded the sled with a straw mattress and blanket to carry him through the woods.
Olivia insisted they take Eli’s grandfather up to Haven House for care.
When the physician saw the disaster inside, she knew it took a supernatural act for him not to comment on her lack.
Graham never would have allowed their house to fall into such a state.
He would have hired help to put it back into order.
She couldn’t explain to the good doctor that she hadn’t wanted anyone here until she invited Eli and his grandfather to stay.
She covered the sitting room sofa with fresh linens before the men transferred the frail farmer from the sled onto the makeshift bed. Dr. Blackwell arranged the tools from his medical bag on a platter before he examined Mr. Manning.
“He only has a few days left,” Dr. Blackwell told her as they walked to the front door. “Maybe a week with care.”
“I suspected that.”
“I’m sending a nurse to bathe him, and I’ll bring morphine tonight to keep him comfortable.”
“Thank you,” she said, wishing that she could do more to help the older man. “He can wear one of Graham’s robes.”
The doctor paused by the door. “How are you doing, Olivia?”
While she wanted to insist that she was fine, like she told everyone who asked at church, Dr. Blackwell would see straight through her facade. “My heart still feels broken.”
He glanced over her shoulder, toward the sitting room where Eli watched over his grandfather. “It seems like God has something in store for you right now.”
She sighed, her shoulders sagging with their weight. “All I’ve got left are stories.”
“Then tell those stories well.”
“Wait here.” She stepped back. “Before I forget—”
In the kitchen, she opened a drawer beside the refrigerator where she kept, tucked in the back, an envelope with ready cash. Last she remembered, months ago now, it contained more than a hundred dollars for emergencies, but the envelope was empty now except for a five-dollar bill.
When did she spend that money? She couldn’t tell the doctor that she’d forgotten. He would surely send her to an institution until her memory recovered.
“I’ll visit the bank in the morning,” she promised. To pay his bill and replenish the envelope. Thankfully, the sales from Lavender Ridge continued to supply her with income, and she would have an advance soon for her next book.
He lifted his bag again. “Don’t worry about payment.”
“I will worry, and you know that’s terrible for my health.”
He smiled. “Then pay me whenever you’d like. There’s no hurry.”
“I’ll reimburse you for whatever Mr. Manning needs in the way of care.”
Dr. Blackwell stepped outside but then turned. “The boy said he’s thirteen.”
Olivia looked back toward the sitting room, but she didn’t see Eli. “He looks so much younger . . .”
“We’ll have to find an institution for him so he can return to school.”
“I don’t think he’s ever been in school.”
“I can call the Lititz Children’s Home,” he suggested, but she didn’t want Eli placed into an orphanage or any institution.
“He can live here for now.” She had plenty of space, and she’d welcome his company. “I’ll enroll him in Catawba.”
After Dr. Blackwell left, she called the grocer and milkman, ordering enough food to fill her refrigerator. Perhaps Eli would help her remember to eat more than the occasional milk toast for dinner.
Eli took a warm bath, and then he insisted on sleeping beside his grandfather.
She made him a second bed on the floor, this one a mound of pillows and blankets, and it felt right to entertain good people in her home again, once a refuge for many.
She loved working on her stories, needed them to provide an income, but tonight, for the first time in many months, she wouldn’t be alone.
Perhaps she’d sleep well, her body as tired as her mind.
After fixing herself a cup of chamomile, she found both guests soundly asleep in the sitting room.
She’d only tried to telephone Simon twice in the past year, the first time when she was in Los Angeles to tell him about Hattie.
The first call went unanswered, but the second time, a man picked up, saying he didn’t know when Simon would return.
But she wanted to try again tonight. Tell Simon about the unexpected guests. Soon enough, people in Catawba would know about Eli, and she wanted to talk first with someone who she knew cared. Someone who wouldn’t judge her for taking in a child instead of sending him to the children’s home.
She lifted the receiver from the kitchen wall. With her growing royalties, she had enough for the extravagant expense of long distance.
“A call for Simon Farrow,” the operator said when a woman answered Simon’s line.
“Father or son?” the woman asked.
Olivia leaned back against the refrigerator, the edge of her apron balled in her hands. And her heart stuttered with her own question. Who was answering Simon’s phone?
“The professor,” Olivia said.
“He’s not—”
“I’ll take that,” a voice said in the background, and the operator disconnected from the call.
“Simon?” she asked, a tremble of question in that word.
“Stay on the line,” he said. “I’m going to pick up in another room.”
Olivia waited a full minute on the dead line, the charges adding rapidly, but she couldn’t hang up now. She wanted to know who had answered his phone.
If he was entertaining a female guest, what right did she have to protest?
Last month, when he’d mentioned again the prospect of marriage, she asked him to wait a little longer.
He could rightly move on. Probably should by now.
But in those seconds of waiting, contemplating the thought of him with another woman made her feel even more alone.
Simon finally picked up the phone again. “Is that you?”
“If you’re meaning Olivia, it’s me.”
“Hello, love.” The warmth returned to his voice. “I was surprised to hear from you.”
A moment passed as she wondered—did she even want to know the truth? But she did, even if it stopped the painstakingly slow progress of this new life that she’d begun to build. “Who answered your phone?”
“My housekeeper,” he said. “Isadore. She usually answers it.”
The housekeeper. Of course. He’d mentioned one before.
“She said something about your father.”
“He’s staying with me for the week. I’m sure I told you.”
“I don’t remember,” she said slowly. “I’m sorry I haven’t met your family. I should have taken a train to Ohio months ago.”
“It’s been a difficult year.” He paused as if contemplating his next words. “Did you call for a particular reason?”
She heard the hope in his voice. That she would finally give him an answer to the question that had begun to drive a wedge between them. She hadn’t meant to encourage him when her mind was still awash. So she told him quickly about Eli and his grandfather.
“Oh, Olivia.” He sighed like he was disappointed in her. “An urchin?”
“He’s a thirteen-year-old boy.”
“You can’t care for everyone,” he said sharply.
“I’m not.” Nor had she taken care of anyone in the past year. Even Hattie had done most of the chores before Olivia left for Los Angeles.
“You can hardly care for yourself.” He spoke the truth, even if it pained her, but she couldn’t allow Mr. Manning and Eli to live in that wreck of a cabin in the trees.
She was doing this for them. And for herself.
“I’ll get along fine,” she said, wishing she hadn’t phoned. “I just wanted you to know.”
Wanted to talk with someone besides the cast of characters in her head. Someone she’d hoped would understand.
“I’ll drive down tomorrow,” Simon said. “To help you sort it out.”
“There’s no need. I’ve already hired a nurse.” The woman said she’d care for Mr. Manning and make them all an occasional lunch and pot of tea.
“I don’t want anyone taking advantage of your kindness, love.”
Her shoulders tensed at that sentiment. “The boy has asked for nothing except milk toast for his grandfather.”
“I’m more concerned about the old man.”
“He’s dying, Simon. He asks for nothing at all.”
“You can’t take in strangers, Olivia. It isn’t safe.”
“Eli isn’t a stranger.”
A long breath of waiting before he spoke again. “Which one is Eli?”
“The boy.”
“I’m coming.”
“Not until next week,” she insisted. “To watch Silver Summer.”
He paused as if she might change her mind, but she wouldn’t. This was something, it seemed, she needed to sort out on her own.