My Children Are More Precious Than Gold Page 3

  It was noon by the time Sid rode up to the doctor's house. He dismounted and tied the horse to the hitch rack. He went through the squeaky hinged gate in the picket fence, up the walk to the front door, and knocked.

  “Mornen, Mrs. Jensen. Doc here?” Sid asked, removing his worn, black felt hat.

  “Sure is. We jest finished an early lunch. Come on in out of the cold. Lands sakes, you look about froze. Why, you're one of the Bishop younguns, ain't you? Doc's still sitting at the kitchen table,” the doctor's wife rambled on, leading Sid through the living room with a hand on his elbow. She didn't talk like folks around there. Sid had heard somewhere Doc found his wife out east in Vermont. Where ever that was. “Doc, one of the Bishop boys is here to see you.”

  “Hey, youngun! What can I do fer you?” Doc greeted, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

  “My baby sister, Lydia, has been sick fer a spell. Mama sent me to fetch y'all to come look at her,” Sid explained.

  Doc stood up. “All right. You warm up while I hitch the horse up to the buggy and bring it around front. I been thinken it is about time to pay a call out yer way to see how yer paw's leg is comen anyway.”

  “How about a bite to eat while you’re waiting? There's plenty left.” Mrs. Jensen smiled warmly at Sid as she pointed at the half full, china bowls on the table.

  “Oh no, thanks. I don't want to be any trouble,” Sid answered politely, even though his stomach did flip flops at the sight of fried potatoes, green beans, and slices of beef roast swimming in broth sitting beside a platter of golden corn bread.

  “Nonsense! Sit down and eat,” Mrs. Jensen ordered jovially, seeing a look of hunger on the young man’s face. She pulled a chair away from the table, put her hands on Sid’s shoulders and pushed him into it. Then she slid a plate and fork in front of him.

  Mrs. Jensen eased her wide hips into a chair on the opposite side of the table. While she passed Sid bowls, she questioned him about his family and other people living on the neighboring ridges.

  Sid answered her questions between bites and had just finished eating when the doctor stuck his head in the front door. “Son, you ready?”

  “Yep. Much oblige for the vitals, Misses. Sid said, tipping his hat to her when he got up from the table.

  “You're quite welcome. Tell your family hey for me,” Mrs. Jensen called after him.

  Slipping Major’s reins from the hitch rack, Sid tied him behind the buggy and gladly climbed in beside the doctor. The long ride back would pass faster with the doctor to make conversation with. Besides, riding in the protected buggy had to be a sight warmer and more comfortable than plodding along on that old hard stepping, work horse.

  When they rode passed the town square, Sid observed a crowd gathered on a corner. He heard a street preacher's raised voice yelling his sermon in the middle of the swarm of people. All that was visible of the preacher was his black bowler hat atop his head, bobbing above the crowd and one hand stretched high in the air, waving a bible. People answered with shouts of amen. The sound of their loud voices traveled after the doctor's buggy down the street. Then the same loud voices raised in song, singing the hymn Steal Away To Jesus.

  The sun was sinking in the west behind the ridge when Doctor Jensen stopped his buggy at the Bishop hitching post. He stretched his long, skinny legs out of the buggy until his feet touched the ground. He heard as well as felt the loud pop of a knee joint. “Long, cold rides seem to stiffen me up more than they use to. Reckon I'm getten old,” he mumbled as he rubbed his knee.

  “I'll tie up yer horse, Doc. Before I come in I'll give him a drink and a feed bag of grain,” Sid offered, feeling sorry for this kindly man who helped so many people.

  “Thank y'all kindly, son,” Doc answered over his shoulder. “Afternoon, Nannie,” he greeted, ducking to enter through the doorway. “Where's that sick youngun Sid's been telling me about?”

  “Over by the fireplace, Doc,” Nannie said, leading him to the child's pallet.

  The other children gathered around to watch. The doctor, from a side view, always reminded Bess of the pictures of Abe Lincoln that hung on the wall of the school house. The doctor didn't have the most comely face in those parts, but one covered with goodness.

  “Younguns, give Doc some breathen room,” Nannie scolded. “Cass, and Bess, start supper so Doc can eat afore he leaves and put on a fresh pot of coffee. Alma, ya can hep the girls. The rest of ya younguns -- skedaddle!”

  “Well, well, Lydia, not feelen too good, huh?” Doc’s voice sounded soothing while he helped the little girl sit up. Trying not to breath deeply, he wrinkled his nose at the stench he stirred up from the asphidity bag filled with dried polk, garlic, spearmint, onions and skunk grease tied around the girl's neck.

  “No,” Lydia uttered, coughing weakly.

  Doc reached in his medical bag for his stethoscope. He moved it over Lydia's chest. He held his hand on her frail chest to keep her upright when she wobbled so he could lay his ear against her back. He listened intently. Finally, he gently lowered the girl back down on her pallet and felt her clammy forehead.

  “Y'all just rest now, little one. I'll leave some medicine for ya with yer mama. If you take it like a good girl, y'all be better in no time. How about that?”

  “Fine, I reckon,” Lydia whispered, exhausted from the effort of sitting up.

  “Nannie, I'll leave a bottle of bitters to give her.” Doc reached into his black bag for a small, round, brown bottle and a square one, “And some cough medicine. Keep tryen to get liquids and food down her to build up her strength. She's weak from the fever and from not eaten. Now, Jacob, how is that leg of yours comen along?”

  “Fine, Doc, but it sure itches a plenty,” Jacob complained.

  “That's a good sign, Jacob. That means yer leg is healen. Nannie did a good job of setten that bone so just be patient a while longer. I'll check it for you when I come back out to see Lydia again.”

  “Doc,” Nannie began softly, trying to keep the children from hearing, “What's our little girl got? This ain't jest the grip elsen the other younguns would have come down with it by now.”

  “No, Nannie, it's not the grip. At one time, she may of had a light case of that all right, but I'm afraid she has St. Vitus's Dance.”

  “What's that?” Asked Jacob.

  “Have you noticed that her face twitches when she's awake, and that she seemed to tire out easier than afore she was sick?” Doc asked.

  “Yep,” Nannie nodded, “But I figured it was cause she was jest comen down with somethin, and she did jest that.”

  “Well, she may always have that nervousness that causes her face or hands to twitch especially when she gets excited. There's no medicine for the twitch.”

  “What causes this here St. -- St. -- Dance?” Stuttered Jacob.

  “I'm getten to that, Jacob,” Doc paused. When Nannie and Jacob saw the sad expression cross the doctor's face as he hesitated, they look at each other with concern. “That little girl's real problem is her heart. Her heart has a leakage that causes her to be weak. When she gets sick, it affects her heart worse.”

  “Her heart? What can we do fer her, Doc?” Nannie looked in the direction of her sick little girl, trying to absorb what she had heard and then back at the doctor.

  “Just keep nursen her, Nannie. With the medicine I'm giving ya and her being as young as she is, Lord willing, she'll get over feelen so weak. Though I warn y'all it will take time. Ya should watch her from now on so she doesn't get too tired. She will need plenty of rest each day.”

  “Doc, will her heart get better?” Jacob shot a concerned glance at his resting child.

  “No, Jacob. Her heart can't mend. The older she gets, the more strain there will be on it,” Doc said.

  “Doc, are ya tellen us Lydia is goen to die?” Nannie looked away to hide the tears she felt welling up in her eyes.

  “Now, Nannie, we cain't tell about when that's goen to happen.” Doc placed his hand on her shoulder. “Just try
to keep her well and happy for as long as she's got. That's all ya can do, and call me any time y'all need me.”

  “I see. Thank ye, Doc.” Suddenly, Nannie felt the need to be busy. “We'll have the meal on the table soon so y'all can eat afore ya all leave. Girls, how's that supper comen?”

  “Doc, we appreciate yer hep. Will a chicken and some tators or turnips do fer pay? Not much else left til spring,” Jacob said, his head bowed.

  “That's fine, Jacob. Been a spell since the Misses and me had fresh fried chicken. Sounds good!” Doc exclaimed. He turned his attention to the children gathering around him. “Well, younguns, how did the winter treat you?” To their delight, the doctor gave each of them a pat on the head and a personal examination before he looked at Jacob’s leg.

  Chapter 3

  Blue Ridge Spring

  Alerted by the creaks and groans of an approaching buggy, Jacob hurried over to open the kitchen door. Impatiently, he watched Doc Jensen descend and stretch before he tied his horse to the hitch rack.

  “Mornen, Doc. Come on it. I fer one sure am glad to see y'all,” Jacob greeted heartily as he hobbled out of the doorway to let the doctor duck inside.

  “Did I see you putten weight on that leg, Jacob?” Doc admonished, shaking a finger in Jacob’s direction.

  “Reckon, Doc, just a little. Just testen it,” defended Jacob.

  Hearing a rustling sound, Doc turned to see Nannie standing in the bedroom door. “Hey, Nannie, nice day, ain't it?”

  “Sure is, Doc, now that yer here,” interrupted Jacob.

  “Mornen, Doc,” Nannie greeted and smiled. She realized how eager Jacob was to get the splint off his leg. She was more concerned for her child at the moment than her husband so she turned to Lydia lying by the fireplace. “Lydia, look who's here to see y'all. Doc, she's been right lonesome since the other younguns went back to school.”

  Lydia sat up on her pallet, and propped herself against a chair leg before she answered. “Hey.” She smiled weakly at him.

  “Hey, yerself, youngun,” said Doc, grinning at the little girl as a feeling of sadness ached in him at the sight of her.

  He could see the little girl was even thinner than she had been on his last visit. Lydia dark brown eyes appeared larger then they really were, set in their sunken sockets above the skin tight framework of her sallow cheeks. Her short cropped, dark brown hair, shaped in a bowl cut, had thinned until the white of her scalp showed through in places.

  “Well, let’s check ya over, youngun.” Doc Jensen knelled down beside her and pulled her away from the chair, placing his large hand on her chest to steady her while he listened with his stethoscope to her back. “Breathe deep, Lydia. That's a girl.” Gently, he leaned her back against the chair, stood up, and turned to find Jacob and Nannie standing right behind him. “Folks, Lydia's lungs sound much better. She’s just weak. Keep feeden her all she'll eat and get her up each day to walk around some. She will feel better when she can get some fresh air and sunshine after the weather warms up enough that she can stand being outside. Now, Jacob, you’re making me nervous hoveren over me. Let me check that leg. Go sit down by the table.”

  Jacob plopped down in a chair. He stretched his splinted leg out in front of him. The doctor placed his bag on the table and opened it. He reached in for a knife and cut away the bandages. The kindling sticks clattered to the floor among the dingy strips of once white cloth, exposing the pale, white flesh of Jacob's right leg.

  As the doctor pushed on the mended spot, ne asked, “Does that hurt, Jacob?”

  Jacob winced. “Still feels tender, Doc.”

  “The break looks to be mended. Just keep putten a little more weight on that leg each day. When it hurts, rest a spell. You're not hiken down to the river any time soon, but that time will come. Do you have any of Genon Mitt's bamhegillie salve? The skin on yer leg is flaky and dry. Y'all need to rub some salve on that leg for the itching.”

  “Why, Doc, thought ya would be again usen Genon's home remedy medicines,” teased Jacob.

  “That ole witch of a midwife's all right in her place,” the doctor said brusquely, “I wouldn't exactly call what she gives folks medicine. Usen bamhegillie salve for a liniment works as good on horses as it does people, Jacob, and y'all know that.”

  Nannie handed the men coffee. “Doc, tell us what ya think about Lydia.”

  “Nannie, she's got to mend at her own speed just like Jacob’s leg. When the weather warms up in the afternoons, get her out on the porch in the sunlight, but don't let her over do. There isn’t any reason for me to make another call unless ya send for me. I’d tell the other younguns if I were you about Lydia's heart so they can help ya watch out for her. If they know they will not tire her out.”

  “We'll do that, Doc,” Nannie agreed. “Now drink that coffee afore it gets cold.”

  At school that morning, Bess tired in a hurry of concentrating on arithmetic problems. She laid down the slate and chalk on her desk. While she gazed out the sun drenched window beside her, she felt the warmth of the golden rays, dancing on her and the other children seated along the school room's wall of windows. Impatiently patting her bare foot on the floor, she wished to be outside, enjoying the day.

  The first thing to go when Spring arrived were their shoes. The children needed to save the pair Pap made them until there was an important reason to wear them. Usually that reason was winter. Not that the children minded going barefoot. That was just the way things were done on the ridge. The children could hardly wait to get out of their stiff leather shoes that hurt their feet.

  While they walked the two and half miles to school that spring morning, the Bishop children had bounced around the thought of playing hooky. They agreed the day was much too nice to be stuck inside the school, especially with the teacher, Mr. Steincross, whom the children had nicknamed Ole Mr. Crosspuss.

  Before they knew it the one room schoolhouse with a row of windows on the south side loomed in front of them. Not one of them had the nerve to turn and leave.

  At her desk, Bess watched out the windows while birds fluttered from the trees to the freshly mowed school yard, filling their beaks with fresh grass clippings to make nests. Red blurs of two squirrels, playfully scampering around, darted up a tree trunk as one chased the other. Bess caught the streak of a white and gray form melting into the underbrush as a rabbit, startled by the antics of the squirrels, disappeared from sight.

  “Bess! Bess Bishop!”

  With a start, Bess looked toward the teacher. “Yes, sir.”

  The teacher gave her a stern look. “Pay attention to your lesson, will you please?”

  “Yep, I will,” answered Bess, meekly. She heard the snickers around her. Bess picked up her slate and held it in front of her warm, blushing face.

  At the front of the room, the younger students practiced spelling at the blackboard. Dillard raised his hand, waving it back and forth and spoke, “Teacher, kin I be excused to go to the outhouse?”

  “May you,” the teacher corrected. “It's almost time to eat lunch. Are you sure you can't wait until then?”

  “No, I cain’t,” Dillard assured him. Uncrossing his legs when the teacher nodded approval, he pattered across the room to the door. He sprinted across the yard, and disappeared into the boy's outhouse in the far corner of the yard.

  Suddenly a dark shadow crept over Bess and across the room. She glanced toward the windows. An eerie hush had fallen over the timber. A lone brown leaf left over from winter skittered across the yard. All the animals had disappeared, but the most terrifying sign of a fast approaching storm was the way the sky had changed. Bess had never seen anything like it. Once a peaceful, clear blue, the sky was a rolling turmoil as dark green as a mallard duck's head. Dipping down as it rolled, the one huge cloud touched the tree tops, edging toward the school.

  Bess checked around her. She realized the other children hadn't noticed the change. She waved her hand in the air to get Mr. Steincross's attention, but he had alr
eady spotted the approaching storm. He was standing at the window near his desk at the front of the room, staring at the cloud.

  “Mr. Steincross!” Bess called out.

  “Yes, Bess, what is it?” The teacher asked in his precise tone without taking his eyes off the storm.

  “There's a bad storm comen!”

  That got the attention of the other students.

  “There is?”

  “Where?”

  “Let's see!”

  “Settle down, children. I've been watching the storm's progress. No need for alarm.” The teacher spoke calmly, but nervously, he rubbed his hands together and paced in front of the windows. “To be on the safe side, all of you in the middle of the room slide under your desks. Those of you with seats by the windows join the children under their desk in the middle of the room. All of you stay there until I tell you to come out.”

  Bess and the other children by the windows darted across the room to do as the teacher instructed. Bess went around the potbelly wood stove in the middle of the room. She squeezed down under Susie Kate Parkin's desk along side of her friend. The girls peeked out from under the desk toward the windows to keep an eye on the storm.

  The dark, green cloud boiled, descending closer to the clearing. The room turned from a gray cast to gloomy darkness. The tree tops swayed frantically back and forth in the strong wind. The temperature dropped fast, creating a damp chill in the air when the pelting rain rattled on the tree leaves in the distant timber. The rattling leaves was a sound that grew louder as the rain moved closer to the school. A sudden strong gust of wind blew through the open windows, scattering slates and chalk onto the students under the desks.

  “Don and Lue, help me close these windows,” the teacher commanded.