There Was an Old Woman

Chapter Forty-eight


Mina slept fitfully in her chair, dimly aware of workers tramping up and down the stairs, going in and out of the house. When she finally came fully awake, it was dusk. She couldn’t see the time on either of the watches on her wrist. Ivory was curled up in her lap. From overhead, there were heavy footsteps, thumps, and scrapes. But no more debris was clattering down the chute.

She felt groggy and dry mouthed, and she groped for her glasses for a few moments before she remembered she’d lost them at the hospital. Annabelle had lost her teeth at the nursing home. She didn’t know which was worse.

When she heard the doorbell ring, she wondered if that was what had woken her. “Brian!” Mina called. “It’s the door.” But she knew her voice was not making it up the stairs, and she certainly couldn’t be heard over the workers’ ruckus.

She cleared her throat and tried again. “Brian? The door!” The only response was the whine of what sounded like a drill.

Knock, knock, knock. “Mrs. Yetner? It’s Evie. Are you there?”

Mina got her feet untangled from the afghan, pulled the walker closer to her, and stood.

“Wait. I’m coming,” she said, though not with enough force for the girl to actually hear her.

She started toward the door, slowly, haltingly. Walkers weren’t made for speed. By the time she got to the kitchen, she was sure Evie would have given up. But there was one more knock.

“I’m here,” Mina called out as she pushed the walker ahead of her and shuffled into the entry hall, her voice stronger but probably not strong enough.

The light came on at the top of the stairwell. “Aunt Mina,” Brian called down to her. “What are you doing up? I told you to call me if you need anything.”

Well, what was the good of her calling him if he was going to be making such a racket that he couldn’t hear her? And besides, the doctor had said she should get up and move around as much as she was comfortable. “I can get it,” she called back.

Mina moved the walker forward and set it down, moved the walker and set it down, trying to get close enough to reach the door. She was almost there when she heard the hinged brass mail panel open and clack shut. Another step and the door was within reach. When she set the walker down and leaned forward to pull the door open, she heard something crack under one of the walker’s front prongs.

Ignoring it, she turned the doorknob and opened the door a few inches. It ran into the walker and she had to back up before she could open it more. It was so frustrating—such a simple act and the walker made it so cumbersome, she thought as she jockeyed back and forth until finally she had the door open enough to see out. And then, of course, she couldn’t see.

“Evie?” she called out. “Are you out there?” She groped for the wall switch and turned on the outside light.