Authors: Nancy E. Turner
What shall I bring? I said to him.
Traveling clothes, he said. I’m taking Savannah to the hospital. Mama is on her way over here to tend April if you’ll agree to come with us. I know Savannah’d want you near.
My heart started pounding. Oh, Albert, I said, don’t you even ask. I’m nearly dressed, just don’t wake April. Neither of us said another word to each other. I got up behind him on his barebacked horse, holding a couple of big quilts to help bundle Savannah in. There on Albert’s porch were Mama and Melissa and Harland, ready to walk to my house. They were holding Savannah’s children and comforting the ones that were wakeful. As soon as they saw us on the road they started toward us, for my house. I could see their breath in the cold morning air lit by the lanterns they carried.
When she got next to me, Mama said she thinks Savannah is failing, she is getting weaker instead of stronger. Mama said, Sarah don’t look so afraid in front of her, if she sees you looking at her like that, she’ll be sure she’s dying. I went with Albert to hitch his horses, he is taking the four-in-hand to make better time. All at once he sat on a bale of hay and put his face in his hands and shook all over.
I put my arm around his shoulders and he said, Oh, God, I will never ask for another thing my entire life. Just don’t take my Savannah away. Don’t take her, Lord, I can’t live without her, and then he said, Take me, please, take me. Let me die, only save her, God.
Suddenly he got up and moved quicker than ever. I tried to say She’ll get well, while we worked, but as soon as I said the words I was filled with dread and worry. Oh Lord, I thought, please save her. Just do this one thing and leave Savannah here. Albert and I are taking her to the hospital. When we went to get her and put her in the wagon, she just cried pitifully and said, Somebody please love my babies when I’m, and then she fell deep asleep and we couldn’t wake her.
It was dark and cold, and I shook like I never have before. Albert carried her to the wagon as gentle as if she was made of eggshells. Even under the light of a dim lamp, she has black rings around her eyes and looks so pale, paler than I have ever seen anyone since my brother Clover died of the snake bite.
February 15, 1886
We reached St. Mary’s Hospital by 10:30. The road was terrible. It didn’t rain but we were caught in mud twice, and four times we had to ford washes running hard with rocks and broken trees that scared the horses. Albert and I were soaked through and covered with mud. They have sent a telegram for a specialist in Prescott. If he is willing to ride hard he might get here in two days.
February 16, 1886
I am sitting in a little room they have in this hospital for folks to wait for news of their loved ones. The sky is low and gray and ugly and this room is dark with only a single, small globe lamp. It is early morning and no one is here but me. Albert is talking with the doctors. The special doctor from Prescott still hasn’t arrived. They won’t let me go to Savannah and that is the hardest thing I can bear. I feel as if God is tearing my sister from me and these heartless people will not even let me say goodbye. They say it is best for her.
How will she know we loved her if no one is there to see her through heaven’s gates? I cannot imagine anything more cruel than to make Savannah pass to her reward all alone in a strange place. Albert tells me every time he comes in that he needs me to be here with him. I want to see Savannah. I have been through this with my brother, my Papa, my first husband, and a host of strangers dying, and now I cannot be with my best and truest friend on this earth.
Albert came to the waiting room looking like the most broken man I’ve ever seen. He sat by me and told me they are not giving her much hope, that doctor still has not come, and they have packed her in ice to try to stop her bleeding and the ice hurts her so that she begs him to take it away. I stood up and ran toward the door, and I was going to run to Savannah, to find her, somewhere in this place, and make her feel better.
No, Albert said. He stood in my way and took hold of my shoulders. You can’t. If you go to her she will know she is dying.
Albert, I said, she isn’t a fool. She knows.
No, he said again. She mustn’t give up hope.
And then I cried, and Albert and I just held onto each other. Albert, I said finally, she asked me to love your children. I thought I’d get killed by Indians or some horse or something. I’ve been counting on her to be there.
Oh, no, Sarah. Don’t say that, he said to me, and shook his head. Then we didn’t talk at all, just sat and stared at the floor or out the window at the gray sky. After a while, a nurse came in and said the special doctor had ridden night and day, and just arrived. He asked Albert to come to him.
Sometime in the afternoon, a nun brought in a pot of coffee and some bread and butter sandwiches. I couldn’t stand the smell and started to get sick and had to leave the room. Outside in the cold it was dismal but the air felt good in my lungs. I walked, trying to get control of my insides, wishing Jack was here. I don’t know what I wanted him to do, except that if he was here I know things would work out fine. Lands, how will I take care of April and this baby and Savannah’s little Clover and Joshua and twin baby girls? How will anything go on without her? Who will write Mr. Lawrence in Texas? Probably me. And I will have to write Ernest, too. I must put down this terrible thing on paper and relive it every time.
When I went back inside the room was empty still, and I tried to start a letter to Mr. Lawrence. Maybe he will pray for her and she will hang on for his sake.
I was glad to see Albert come in again. Two nurses were with him and a short man with a thick gray beard. They told me he was Doctor Springer from Prescott. He said very plainly that Savannah has nearly bled to death. Then he said he has a brand new, special treatment to give Savannah extra blood from other people, but he checked Albert’s and it is the wrong kind, so would I mind checking to see if they could give her mine? I put my hand to my throat, and imagined butchering a steer and the way it’s bled out.
All of it? I said. I’d give it except I have a baby girl and one on the way.
The doctor looked real concerned for a minute, and wrinkled up his forehead. We will only take about a cupful or two, he said. Not enough to hurt the baby, and only a few drops at first to see if it will match.
I’m sure we’re the same, I told him, Sisters under the skin closer than some by nature.
I will not write that I was not afraid. They stuck a needle and a tube in my arm, not my throat as I thought they would. Albert sat in a chair between us. Savannah looked as gray as if she was already gone. All the ice was gone and they were warming her with hot blankets. As I was lying near Savannah and they pumped my blood into her, I thought I could see her turning pinker by the minute. It went real slow. For two hours I laid there, and finally the doctor said that was all, but they had found one of the Sisters, Sister Magdelena, whose blood also matched Savannah’s. They started as soon as we swapped places on the narrow beds. They gave me a blanket and I was so tired from all the worry, I slept until dawn.
When dawn came, Savannah called Albert’s name softly and I woke right up. Sister Magdelena had stayed with us, and she made signs and said, Thank you, Virgin Mother. Then Savannah said her feet were cold, so Sister Magdelena brought more hot blankets and Albert and I found an old fashioned metal warmer to put next to her feet. I am ever thankful for Doctor Springer. He stayed up with Savannah all night, and this morning said he was going to rest in an office but he would be just down the hall. He said they will probably give her more blood this afternoon, from someone else. He smiled at me real nice and said I should rest today.
February 24, 1886
Albert brought Savannah home today. She has turned around and will stay with us. Mama said the angels in heaven will be lonesome a while longer. I couldn’t say anything about it. Every time I opened my mouth, I nearly choked. I sat in her room and read to her a spell, and brought her the babies to nurse, and helped her with her private needs. She is weak as a newborn kitten, but she smiles and says thank you to everything I do. The sun is shining today through clouds scattered like patchwork blocks across the sky. Albert is a new man, although he looks real old and tired. Oh Lord, is all I can say. My heart is overflowing.
February 28, 1886
Jack came today, and we shared stories about the flood and what had happened in town, the birth of Savannah’s little girls and her troubles. Mason is living in the parlor because the adobe shed I had built is so washed away that one side is falling in. I am so thankful I had not left my books out there as they would be all ruined.
He took April on his shoulders and we walked up and down the creek, amazing ourselves at the washed away look of everything and the brush caught high in the trees at the water line from the flood. Jack, I said, there’s something been on my mind I want to say to you.
So he sidestepped some silty mud and April laughed at the bouncing. I’m here, he says.
I followed them, and said, You told me you want me to be careful not to let the children grow up without a mother. Well, don’t you ask them to grow up without a father, either.
What do you mean? he says.
You know what I mean, I told him.
It isn’t the same. A child needs a mother lots more than a father, he says.
That comes easy from you, seein’ as you still got yours, I said.
He quit hopping around with April and looked down at his sloppy boots. I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean that. But it isn’t the same.
You don’t know that. Maybe a boy needs a father to teach him man things. This here might be a boy, you know. I can be a mother to him but I can’t be a father. And April doesn’t need to lose any more people either. There was so many things I wanted to say, and none of them would come out. I didn’t know how to put to words that I didn’t ever want to wait, not knowing if he was alive or dead, and I didn’t want to have to be brave for the children’s sake.
Run, Papa! squealed April. Run like a horse!
So Jack ran a little, and she jiggled up and down on his shoulders like a jug of syrup.
All I’m saying, I said as he ran around me, is think of us before you jump headlong into something.
Jack turned his head up at April. We’ve got to do what Mama says, don’t we, Little Bitty?
April nodded.
Let’s give her a salute, he says, and he snaps to attention and says Yes Ma’am, General Elliot!
March 2, 1886
Jack worked hard yesterday and all day today, side by side with Mason, fixing and cleaning mud from every place. Rudolfo and Celia have a new baby and all of them spent two nights on their roof in the cold rain, and they have mud in the house on everything. Rudolfo says he is going to build a trench clear around their house, so if it ever happens again, the water will not get so close.
We will be back tomorrow to help our neighbors clean out the mud, and all of us have to dig out our wells when the water level goes down more. Jack went to the stage station with the wagon, hoping to pick up the parts for the windmill he ordered, but it had not arrived. He will be staying a few more days, too, and I am so happy for that.
Having him here almost a week is so nice. Every night, without fail, I sleep snug in his arms, wrapped up warmer than I ever thought I could be in the winter.
March 10, 1886
Yesterday morning Jack told me goodbye, and kissed April. I looked him in the eyes, knowing I saw something more than just a goodbye. When will you be back? It’s not soon, is it?
No, he said, it might be a long time. Geronimo and twenty or so other Apaches are hiding in Mexico, and it’s a bad trip, and the weather’s terrible.
Why don’t they just leave him alone? I said. Leave him in Mexico.
Jack shook his head and said, Can’t. He’s stirring up more tribes to rebel and raid. He was sent to a reservation but broke away and escaped, and there’s a warrant for him now. He’s supposed to surrender, but he didn’t show up, and we have to go get him. I might be a month or more, maybe two. If there’s messengers sent, he said, which there usually is, I’ll get word to you. If that windmill comes, just have Mason lay it up near the well. When I get back we’ll build it up.
Toobuddy followed Jack to the end of the yard. Take him with you, I said, I don’t mind.
Jack looked at the dog and pointed at the house, and said, Get home, boy! No, Sarah, it’s too far, and he’d get in the way or get worn out or something. We’ll be moving right along.
I watched him ride away, and a terrible feeling of dread hung over my head.
Later Harland brought me a letter they picked up with their mail, and said Albert and Mama both got one just like it too, from the Lawrences, probably about Savannah’s sickness.
Dear Sarah
,
How sorry we are to tell you the news. Poor Ulyssa has taken the tuberculosis. She is going there to the Territories for the lung asylum in Tucson. Her doctor said it is the only hope, but she is terribly sick. Also, because she is so very sick, you must not visit her or see her at all until her doctors allow. You are so devoted about letter writing that she has said your letters sustain her and she feels she is a part of your lives out there. I’m sure it will be a double comfort if you can write her. Don’t be alarmed if she doesn’t write back, it may be some time before she is well enough to. If she does write to you, press her letters with a hot flat iron heated like you would scorch a shirt, before opening it, to crush the disease out of it. Otherwise, we are all well, and although we have suffered some from being quarantined, it will be lifted next month as long as no one else shows signs of the consumption. Alice wants me to tell you she has learned to ride a horse. Take care. I will write more later
.
Your friend and sister, Louisianna Lawrence