Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
As we were getting ready for work the next morning, Susan stopped by after her hospital shift, excited to share news.
“Hello, Uncle, Aunt Effie. I can’t stay but wanted to see Cussy before I went to bed.” Her white uniform bore the blood-specked stains and creases of a long night shift.
Mrs. Claxton jumped up. “You’ve got a tear on the pocket of your uniform again, chile. Let me sew that up for you real quick.”
“It’s fine, Auntie. I have the one you repaired last month.” She pecked her aunt’s cheek.
Susan looked to me. “Cussy, I had a chance to study more about your diagnosis. We had a forty-eight-year-old male patient admitted Tuesday who was the same color as you.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Like me?”
“Exactly your color and having the methemoglobinemia. But unlike you, his disorder was caused by drinking well water that held too much nitrates. So his was acquired and not congenital like yours.”
“Chile, I don’t understand a word of this medical gobbledygook. Speak our language,” Mrs. Claxton said.
I wrinkled my brow, trying to get the gist of it all.
“He’s a farmer on the outskirts of town, and we tested his blood.
And because of you, I was able to treat him.
We gave him oxygen and a blood transfusion, but when he didn’t show improvement and his color had not returned to normal, I urged the doctor to try an IV of your methylene blue.
He healed quickly. We discharged the patient the next morning! ”
Susan was so pleased with herself she suddenly grabbed me in a hug.
I blushed. “You cured him,” I said, awed by this smart nurse.
“Yes, chile,” Mrs. Claxton told her. “Fine work. That is some good news, Cussy. She wouldn’t have saved him if you hadn’t come to Louisville.”
“It’s true, Cussy,” Susan said, smiling. “Medicine is changing quickly, and every day we learn more.”
“Can I get you some breakfast, chile?” Mrs. Claxton asked her niece.
“Love to stay, Auntie, but I’ve got to get some rest before my next shift.” She grabbed a biscuit and a sausage patty off the top of the stove. “This week has already been a month-of-Mondays-long.”
I couldn’t understand about the nitrates in his well water and why his blue was only temporary and could be cured completely, or why the methylene blue had made me sick but healed him. I started to ask when Susan squeezed my shoulder. “Got to run. See you Sunday, Cussy.”
While Mrs. Claxton and I walked to the library, I studied more on why there was no permanent fix for my woes.
Inside the librarian’s office, I wrung my blazed-blue hands as she answered another of Warden’s daily telephone calls.
Sunday was coming quick, her prying calls a reminder.
***
That evening, when a hundred more patrons showed up, Mrs. Claxton telephoned school principals and pleaded with them to call teachers in to volunteer. Within the hour, they arrived, eager to donate their evenings to the cause.
Barking orders, the ol’ librarian passed out name tags, fussed over seating, and finally quieted the crowd. I wandered between the students and hallways and other rooms, stopping to check their practice papers and offer help.
Later, when I walked into the ladies’ facilities and saw a group huddled on the floor with a young teacher instructing them, I warmed, knowing they’d sure enough be standing in voter lines come Election Day.
Still, I searched new faces, hoping to see Lizbeth.
The patrons came in droves—from dark alleyways, busy streets, quiet neighborhoods, businesses, and more. We welcomed couples carrying babes, others toting canes, and two in wheelchairs who had to be carried up the Carnegie Library’s steps.
We seated grandparents, factory men, street cleaners, policemen, and other girls from houses like Miss Johnna’s. Lillian’s eyes nearly popped when she welcomed an ol’ white Baptist minister and he seated himself next to a woman from a brothel.
The minister confided in Mrs. Claxton. “Jedidiah phoned and suggested I stop in. For years I’ve had to rely on someone else to read the Bible to me before I practiced my sermons.
I was awfully humiliated when I told my congregation that for years Peter was a fine fisherman and Paul was an oyster man.
Found out after the sermon Paul was indeed austere and not an oyster man. ”
Like the Moonlight lady back home, Mrs. Claxton turned no one away.
***
Mrs. Claxton insisted I use her office to take a quick supper break since the library kitchen was being used for teaching the patrons.
Alone at her desk, I ate a sandwich she’d brought from home while I flipped through the newspaper, searching for any word on polio or the men’s prison.
There was a small article that reported some prisoners in Indiana and Kentucky had been selected for Salk’s trials and would be inoculated.
I prayed it was Jackson’s prison. Again, I read through the news, looking to see if there were any new deaths reported but found none.
Exhaling, I folded the paper and placed it beside the telephone.
My eyes rested on the black receiver. I reached for it, then curled my fist, pulling away.
It was useless. The inmates at the men’s prison had telephone privileges like the women’s once a week, but only when they had a telephone number to call.
How I wished I could hear his voice, find out if he was safe. Tell him where I was. Worried, I placed half the sandwich back into the sack and tossed it in the trash can.
I drummed my fingers on the desk, then sat back down in Mrs. Claxton’s comfortable chair and boldly reached for the receiver again.
The operator answered. My hands shook, and I jumped up and twisted the long telephone cord, slowly winding it around my body. “Troublesome Creek, ma’am? Doc, please. Doctor Thomas, ma’am.”
She dialed the number, and I stared at the door, listening to the loud vibrating rings. Seconds passed when the operator came back on the line. “There’s no answer, ma’am. Would you like me to try—”
Footsteps fell near the door. The knob turned slowly, and I slammed down the receiver, my breaths sliding into a rattled thud.
“There you are, Miss Cussy,” Lillian said, looking at me curiously and then over to the telephone. “I’m sorry if I interrupted, but Mrs. Claxton asked me to find you. The newspapermen are here looking for you.”
“Newspaper?”