There Was an Old Woman

Chapter Fifty-six


A sharp, sweet smell drew Mina into the present. That, and a woman’s voice. “Wilhelmina?”

Mina opened her eyes, feeling as if she were fighting her way up out of a dark chasm.

“Good morning.” Now she recognized the voice. It was Dora, bending over her and helping her to sit, plumping pillows behind her. “So how do you like your new master suite?”

Mina struggled to see into the blur around her. She reached her hand up and hit a sloping ceiling. Felt behind her—an iron headboard. She was in the upstairs bedroom. How on earth had they finished the renovations so quickly? She didn’t even smell paint or wood, just a whiff of plaster dust and citrus. Intense citrus. Mina recognized that as Dora’s scent.

Mina groped on the bed covers for Ivory, recognizing the feel of the soft quilts she and Annabelle had pieced together years ago. She’d made one for her own bed, but this felt like Annabelle’s. Annabelle’s stitches were uniform and tiny. Her mother had called Mina’s stitches “slapdash” and had made her pick them out and do them over and over again until they passed muster. Passed muster. That had been one of her father’s expressions. She used to think it was “passed mustard.”

Where was her cat? “Ivory?” She could barely get the word out.

“Ivory is fine. She’s downstairs. I’ll bring her up for a visit in a little bit.”

“What day is it?”

“Monday,” Dora said.

Monday? Mina bit her lip. Typically she woke up three or four times in the night; now she was sleeping so soundly that she was losing days at a time. Mina wanted her calendar. Needed her calendar, so she could keep track. Needed her glasses so she could read what she’d written on it, and read the newspaper, and stay anchored by the sights and smells and sounds of the present. Speaking of sounds—

“What is that hum?” Mina asked.

“Climate control. It’s in the ceiling. Wonderful, isn’t it? Keeps the room perfectly comfortable.”

What was wonderful was fresh air. But before Mina could point that out, Dora pulled back the covers and helped her out of bed. Mina needed Dora’s support to stand, but after that she managed on her own. The new bathroom did indeed turn out to be nice, and best of all it smelled clean. It had a walk-in shower with a chair, grab bars in the shower and by the toilet, all in a sea of pale-green tile.

When Mina was back in bed, Dora brought her a tray. Chicken noodle soup, sliced cheese and crackers, and applesauce. Food for sick people.

“Don’t forget to take your pill,” Dora said.

Mina couldn’t actually see the pill Dora handed her, but just holding it in her hand made her gag. She set it on the tray and slid it under the edge of the plate. Ate a cracker with a slice of cheese. A spoonful of applesauce.

“Your friend from next door came by with something for you to sign,” Dora said. Mina heard Dora rustle some papers.

“Why couldn’t she come up and ask me herself?”

“You were sleeping.”

“I can’t sign something if I can’t even see where to sign.”

“I’ll show you where.”

Mina put another cheese cracker in her mouth and chewed slowly. Washed it down with a sip of apple juice. “I’m not signing anything until I can see what I’m signing.”

As if on cue, there was a knocking downstairs, and Dora said, “That’s probably her now. What shall I tell her?”

“Send her up to talk to me.” Mina would gladly sign whatever it was if she could just be sure that it was a document Evie wanted her to sign and not one of Brian’s harebrained schemes.

The knock came again. Dora wasn’t making a move to leave.

“Answer the door and bring her up here. Please.”

“Of course,” Dora said. But it was just the kind of of course that Mina had learned not to trust. “Tell you what, you take your pill. Then I’ll get the door and bring her up.”

Mina put the pill in her mouth and took a sip of apple juice. The pill tasted bitter on her tongue.

Dora sat on the end of the bed. “Need another sip to get it down?”

Mina took another drink and choked down the pill. That seemed to get Dora out of the room at last.

With Dora gone, Mina sat forward, listening. The hum from the air conditioner made it hard to hear. She set aside her tray and pushed back the covers. Then inched her way to the edge of the bed, held on to the windowsill—its sawtooth cutouts reassuringly familiar—and stood. She felt around for her cane, but it wasn’t there. Nor was the walker. She knew the door to the stairway was only a few feet past the end of the bed. Surely she could make it that far on her own.

Steadying herself against the sloping ceiling, Mina shuffled forward to the foot of the bed. She held on to the iron bedstead for a moment before continuing on. She was out of breath and her legs were shaking by the time she got to the door. She pulled it open and clung to the jamb.

“I’m sorry.” That was Dora. Something garbled, then “ . . . not here.”

A low voice answered.

“ . . . out at the moment.” Dora again. “ . . . have no idea. Of course I’ll relay the message.”

“I’m up here!” Mina’s voice quavered. She edged toward the top step. What was it the physical therapist had told her about stairs? Up with the good leg, down with the bad. But just as she was groping for the banister railing, she heard the front door close and felt a little puff of air come up the stairs, like the wind shifting in a subway tunnel.

Mina slumped against the door frame. She heard Dora’s footsteps downstairs, and a wave of dizziness came over her. She turned to make her way back to bed and ran smack into the sloping ceiling. A moment later she found herself sitting on the floor, dazed and disoriented.

She needed a few minutes on the floor to catch her breath before she could crawl over to the bed, but luckily she managed to pull herself up and into it. She was under the covers, trying to stay awake, when Dora finally returned.

“Why didn’t you”—Mina’s tongue felt thick—“bring her up?”

“It wasn’t her,” Dora said.

“Whowuzit?” Mina’s words slurred together. She felt suddenly warm. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

“Who?” Dora said, as if Mina might forget what she had asked.

Mina gathered her strength. “Who was at the door?” she demanded, carefully squeezing out each word.

“Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Dora said breezily. “Did you want me to bring them up?”

Jehovah’s Witnesses? Why would Dora promise to pass along their “message”? Wasn’t that what she’d said? Or—Mina tried to remember.

“What’s the matter?” Dora said.

Mina closed her eyes. She felt a light touch on her wrist. Dora was feeling her pulse. Mina knew it was racing, but Dora didn’t say anything, simply lifted the tray from the bed with a slight rattle. A few moments later, the door shut and Mina was alone.

Mina’s eyelids felt like they were being pushed closed. She needed to stay awake. She rubbed her temple and found a tender, swollen lump. When had she bumped her head? Her tailbone ached, too. But the hip wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. She needed to work her muscles. She flexed and unflexed her ankle—one, two, three—in one of the lying-down exercises she’d learned after hip replacement.

But her attention wandered and she lost count. As soon as she had her strength back, she promised herself, she’d do more. She’d sooner drop dead of a heart attack than wither away. That was her final thought before the room faded to black around her.