Blue (5 page)

July–August 1944

With Momma gone to the hospital, all her jobs fell on me. I figured that included writing to Daddy about Bobby. I didn't want him worrying about us, but I knew he would want to know something as important as Bobby having polio.

So one day I finally sat down and wrote it straight out for him to see—although I tried to put a good face on it.

I sent that letter off with a prayer that the war would be over soon and my daddy would be home again. And Bobby and Momma too. All of us put back together.

But for now, I knew I had to make the best of it. In the evenings I read the newspaper—after I was done washing the clothes, cooking meals, and working in the garden.

I read everything in it, even the Colored News, which mostly told about their special church programs, like gospel quartets. And personal news, like who just sent their sons off to the war. It put me in mind of that colored soldier that got on the train the same time as my daddy.

Every day the paper had something on the front page about the polio hospital. One day it showed a picture of an
iron lung. It looked like a big metal barrel on a stand. There was lots of buttons and meters on it and some little windows on the side—I reckon so the doctors and nurses could look in or maybe reach in and take care of the patient.

There wasn't nobody in it, so I couldn't really tell how my brother would look in one of them. And I for sure couldn't figure out how it worked. But I remembered how Junior said only a person's head would be sticking out. It made me feel all lightheaded just to think about my little brother being trapped in one of them. He should be running around in the back yard with Pete right now.

One thing I read in the paper just stuck with me. At the end of an article about that hospital it said, “The first case of polio was reported in Wilson County today. A thirteen-yearold white girl came down with the disease.”

Well, I don't live in Wilson County, but the rest of it sounded like me. When I went to bed that night, I kept hearing that sentence in my head:
A thirteen-year-old white girl came down with the disease.
Those words floated in and out of my dreams and kept me half awake until I couldn't tell what was dreaming and what was real. I spent the night wiggling everything from my toes to my nose just to prove to myself that I didn't have polio.

When I woke up the next day I almost give up on reading that paper. But then Ida started pestering me to read it to her and Ellie. So sometimes I would tell them what it said. The good stuff, anyway.

“The polio hospital is bright and sunny,” I told them. “It says they have really good doctors. And lots of volunteers—the women from the Hickory Country Club are providing food for the people at the hospital. It says they need baby beds and electric fans, but everything else has been donated.”

“Like what?” asked Ellie.

“Like hotplates and sheets and lots of blankets for the Kenny treatments.”

“What's the Kenny treatments?”

“I don't know,” I said. “But I'm sure they make Bobby feel better.”

It seemed like the epidemic was just getting worse. Every day the papers told about some camp or special program that was closed because of infantile paralysis. It even said the Catawba County schools wouldn't open on schedule. And that included Mountain View, our school.

At first the
Hickory Daily Record
had said the emergency hospital would be equipped for forty patients. But about three weeks later the paper said they had ninety patients. Volunteers was working around the clock, building new wards for all them people who had polio.

The polio news was always right there on the front page. And all around the polio news was articles about the war. I read the parts that wouldn't scare my sisters. Like when the Yanks—that's the American soldiers—took some city back from Hitler. If a soldier from Hickory got killed, I didn't dare mention it because the girls would think Daddy was dead. And to be honest, it always give me that feeling too. I knew it could be him any day.

We kept watching the mailbox for letters from Daddy. Even the girls could tell if he sent one or not, since it come in a special brown envelope. It was called V-mail—V for Victory. It had an oval-shaped window in it for our name and address to peek through. The letter was always in Daddy's handwriting, but it wasn't his ink—it was just a picture of the letter he wrote.

On the radio they said V-mail saved lots of money on
stamps. They said the army could take pictures of the mail and send it to the United States on a roll of film. Then they printed it out and sent it to the soldiers' families.

Daddy wrote back fast after I told him about Bobby.

Daddy was right about Junior and Bessie Bledsoe. Junior come by every day to drop off some food Bessie had fixed or just to help me in the garden.

Sometimes the girls would help real good. But other times they come up with excuses like headaches and tummy pains. If they argued with me the least little bit, I'd back right down. I knew if I had let Bobby play when he wanted to, maybe he wouldn't be in that hospital right now.

The first corn and tomatoes got ripe while Momma and Bobby was at the hospital. I hated that because I knew
Momma had a hankering for tomato sandwiches and corn on the cob.

And speaking of tomato sandwiches—one day I broke a promise I made to Peggy Sue a long time ago. I took my little sisters for a picnic in Wisteria Mansion.

I don't know what got into me. I guess I got to thinking, what if Bobby never got to see that place? It would be a crying shame if a body had to go through this world without a glimpse of how beautiful it can really be. Not that I expected Bobby to die or anything. But the thought would cross my mind once in a while—especially at night when the house seemed so empty and quiet, when all I could hear was the twins stirring in their bed and the clock ticking on the wall and the crickets singing outside my window. Sometimes I would go curl up on the girls' bed just to feel them breathe.

I reckon I took the girls to the mansion on account of I was scared I might miss my chance if I didn't do it now. And then again, maybe I was just trying to escape to a place that was free of trouble.

Anyhow, we made tomato sandwiches. I even sprinkled a tiny bit of sugar over some blackberries and we packed them up and went off for some adventure.

“Where are we going?” asked Ellie.

“Back behind them vines to a special place where bad things don't happen.”

Well, I reckon them girls needed to see a place like that as much as I did, because the next thing I knew, I was leading them with their eyes shut through the tangle of wisteria vines.

“Now,” I said when we was inside the mansion with the thick wall of wisteria vines and the pine trees all around us. “Open your eyes.”

“Ooooh,” both girls said at the same time. From the way they stared, I could tell they never expected it to be so light and beautiful inside.

“Of course, it looks much better when the wisteria is blooming,” I told them. “There's nothing in the world as beautiful as that. But you'll have to wait till next spring to see it.”

The girls ran from room to room exploring all the nooks underneath the little groves of trees and pointing out the windows where there was gaps between branches.

After we ate our picnic, we crossed a log over the creek and followed a path that led to the river. By the time we got to the river they wanted worse than Christmas to get in the water. I did too, but I knew it was my responsibility to keep them out. “You heard what that doctor said on the radio. Stay out of the water, on account of most of the people who got polio was swimming or fishing before they got it.”

“Huh,” said Ida. “You just told us nothing bad ever happens in here.”

“Yeah,” said Ellie. “I'm fixing to get in the water.”

Them girls had me there for a second. But I thought real fast.

“Well, that's true,” I said. “But this river is the dividing line. And we ain't taking no chances. If you get close to that water I'll beat you with a hickory stick.”

Sometimes I felt like I had turned into a mean old woman, what with my daddy going to war and my brother getting polio. Sometimes I wanted to rip them overalls right off and throw them in a fire. I didn't think no thirteen-year-old girl should have to burn her brother's toys and tell her sisters they couldn't go swimming in the river.

And that night at supper I was thinking I shouldn't be
eating sweet corn and tomatoes when my momma couldn't have any and might not even get a taste of them if she stayed at the hospital with Bobby all summer long.

But later, when I was drifting off to sleep, I remembered something I had heard on Junior's radio about farmers donating their garden foods to the polio hospital. And right then and there I started cooking up a plan.

August 1944

The next morning when I got the newspaper off the Hinkle sisters' back steps, I seen a brown paper sack there with my name on it. I opened it up and inside was six molasses cookies.

I looked up and seen Miss Pauline and Miss Dinah standing in the kitchen window. The two of them looked exactly alike with their dark glasses and their hair pulled back in a bun. Except Miss Dinah only come up to Miss Pauline's shoulder.

“Thank you!” I hollered. They was nodding and smiling and I could see they was trying hard to say sorry for the way things was with the quarantine. Which, if you want to know the truth, was off by then. That man from the health department had come and took the sign down about three or four weeks after he put it up. But that didn't mean them sisters was over their fear of polio.

I come home by way of Junior's house. I stood at the end of their lane and whistled the Bob White call.

Then I waited for him to whistle back—
Bob-bob-white.

After I waited and whistled two more times, I heard him call me back.
Bob-bob-white.
He done it three times and each time it got closer. The next thing I knew, he was coming around the bend by the cedar trees.

“Hey,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I need your help.”

“You name it.”

“Take me to the emergency hospital.”

Junior shook his head. “Ann Fay, are you thick in the head? You know they ain't letting nobody in over there.”

I grabbed his arm. “That ain't true. We heard on the radio where farmers are taking vegetables. I want to take some corn to my momma. And I could give a bushel of potatoes. I'm desperate for Momma and maybe I can even get a look at Bobby.”

“They ain't gonna let you in. They got a policeman out there guarding the road. I heard that on the radio too.”

“Junior, we gotta try. We'll tell them we just want to deliver the vegetables and leave again. You don't think we're gonna get polio from driving up to the building, do you?”

“How should I know? I hear tell people are covering their faces with their hankies and shutting their train windows when they go through Hickory.”

“Well, that's just ignorant. And you are too, if you think I'm gonna let you talk me out of this. Don't you and your momma have some vegetables you want to give to the hospital?”

Junior's nose started twitching like it always does when he's nervous. Instead of answering me, he plucked one of them weeds that has a cone-shaped seed head. He made a loop out of the stem, pulled it tight, and shot the seed cone like an arrow over my head. He was stalling for time.

“Junior Bledsoe, are you going to help me or not?”

“I don't know, Ann Fay. I'm sure we could donate a peck of green beans. We just picked a bushel this morning. But even if Momma agrees, we ain't gonna get by with this.”

“The least we can do is take a chance. If the hospital needs food, they ain't gonna be choosy about who brings it, are they?”

Junior didn't seem convinced, but he ain't good at saying no. So before the day was out, we was heading for town in my daddy's truck.

I wasn't planning to take Ida and Ellie with me. They was supposed to stay home and play in the yard, but Ida threatened to go wading in the creek while I was gone. So what choice did I have?

I don't know how Junior knew exactly where that hospital was, but one thing about Junior is, there ain't much he don't know. He drove straight to it. I was surprised to find it wasn't in town really—it was close to Lake Hickory, so close you could see the water. The closer we got, the more nervous I got.

Ida and Ellie bounced on the seat and chanted, “We're gonna see Bobby.”

“Just put that idea right outta your head,” I said. “Bobby is in an iron lung, and he sure ain't gonna be out in the yard where we can see him. Just be saying your prayers that we get a chance to see Momma.”

Right when we turned on the road to the hospital, I seen a policeman standing there. He held up his hand for Junior to stop. Junior took a deep breath and said, “I hope you been saying your prayers, Ann Fay.” He rolled down his window.

The police leaned in, looking us over like we was criminals trying to rob a bank, and asked, “Can I help you?”

I reckon I should've waited for Junior to speak, him being the man and all. But I leaned forward and said, “We brought some vegetables for the hospital. I heard you're accepting donations.”

The police looked at Junior. “You can't just drive in here like this. Not with those girls in the car. It's not safe for them.”

I thought he was talking about Ida and Ellie, so I said, “We can drop the young'uns off somewheres and come back.”

You would've thought I wasn't even there, the way the police ignored me and spoke to Junior. “Take these three girls home and come back. I'm sure Mrs. Townsend will be grateful for the vegetables.”

I was getting set to argue when Junior said, “Yes, sir.” And just like that, he jammed the truck in reverse and backed out the road.

“Junior Bledsoe, what do you think you're doing?” I hollered. “You said you'd help me see Momma.”

Junior didn't say a word and I thought for sure he was mad. When he got to the end of the road he backed out in the street and drove away.

Well, I was mad too. “You're crazy,” I said, “if you think you're going back in there without me.”

Junior set his jaw in a hard line and drove on down the road that went at an angle below the hospital. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road. “Well, that police ain't letting you in there, so I reckon you're gonna have to sneak in.” He peered out the window past my head. I looked where he was looking. There was a slope covered with bushes and weeds by the side of the road. At the top of that slope, I could see the pine trees that surrounded the hospital.

And I could see what Junior was thinking.

All of a sudden I wanted to hug that boy's neck. “Yippee!” I said. “I'm climbing that hill.” Then I remembered the twins. They had to get out of the truck too. I didn't see how
all three of us could sneak in. But I opened the door and hopped out. I jerked my head so they would know to follow. “Come on.”

“Are we gonna get caught?” asked Ida.

“No,” I promised. “Not if you do what I say. Junior, you be sure to give me enough time to get up that hill before you go driving in there. I'll give the Bob White call when I'm getting close. You stay down here and listen till you hear it. Okay?”

Junior saluted me then and said, “Yes, sir!”

And I wasn't even wearing my overalls.

Wearing britches would've come in handy because there was a lot of blackberries on that hill. But I stomped down the briars and led the twins through.

We stomped and huffed and puffed our way up that hill, and every time one of the twins opened her mouth to speak I told her to hush or it would ruin everything. Finally we was at the top. I peeked through the tall grass at the edge and seen a rock building. It looked just like the newspaper described it. I was glad the police was out at the end of the road, but I knew someone else might catch me.

I turned and seen Junior parked right where we left him on the road. He had turned the truck around and was waiting for the signal.

Bob-white.
I whistled so good I knew if that police or anyone else heard me, they would think it was a bird for sure. Junior started up the hill.

“Ida and Ellie,” I said, “I might be able to sneak in close. But three of us would never make it. Some doctor or nurse would look out the window and see one of us for sure.”

Well, it's a wonder some doctor didn't hear them right then and there, the way they both hollered. “Ann Fay, you promised we could see Momma!”

I clamped my hands over their mouths. “I did not. I only brought y'all along on account of you threatened to go wading in the creek. Now if you'll cooperate, I'll have a surprise for you.”

Ida pulled her head away from my hand. “What kind of surprise? Ann Fay?”

I had to think fast. “Look,” I said and I pointed out to the water. “Lake Hickory is right over there. If you wait behind these bushes till me and Junior come after you, we'll drive you over there. It's big as Bakers Mountain and I bet it's real cool under those trees.”

The girls didn't make no promises to stay there. I glanced around and I couldn't see Daddy's truck no more. So I knew Junior had turned onto that road and was probably talking to that policeman right this minute. Somehow I had to make the twins stay in the weeds, and I didn't know how I was gonna do it. “Look,” I said. “We still got sugar at home. If you stay right here and don't cause no trouble I'll make you a cake.”

“Make a cake?” Ida whispered.

“Make a cake and take us to the lake?” asked Ellie.

I was getting real desperate because I knew Junior was probably fixing to unload those vegetables any minute. So I said, “Yes, make a cake and go to the lake.”

“Hey,” said Ellie. “That rhymes. ‘Make a cake and go to the lake.'”

I pushed her down in the weeds and said, “Yes, it rhymes. Say it one hundred times real slow and maybe I'll be back by then. Now don't move, you hear?” Then I climbed over the top of the cliff and run to the nearest oak tree.

There wasn't many big oaks with trunks to hide behind. It was mostly young pines, so I was going to have a hard time
staying out of sight. Suddenly I wished I had wore my brown dress instead of my light blue Sunday one.

About that time I heard a truck come around the back of the building. I peeked around the tree and seen it was Junior. He got out and knocked on the screen door at the back of the hospital. “Mrs. Townsend?” he called.

A woman come to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Yes?” she said through the screen door.

“I brung you some vegetables,” said Junior. He pointed to the back of the truck, and when she looked to where he was pointing, I run two trees closer. I was real close now.

Mrs. Townsend pushed the door open and followed Junior down the steps and to the truck. “Did you grow these?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am, I did,” said Junior. I decided I was gonna choke him when I got the chance. I stepped out from behind that tree.

“Actually, I grew the potatoes and the sweet corn,” I said. “It ain't enough for the patients, but maybe it will do for your kitchen help.” I was still debating how I was gonna tell her my momma worked in her kitchen.

But then I didn't have to after all. I heard my momma's voice behind me. “Ann Fay?” I could hear how shocked and happy she was to see me. “How did you get here?”

The next thing I knew, my momma was clinging to me, tight as a chigger.