“They did.” Hattie sniffled. “That’d be right nice, Miss Tess.”
I felt Ruth and Lucy studying me in silence. “They did like that,” Ruth acknowledged after a moment. “We can get a ham. What else do you need for it, Tess? Hattie can go to the store.”
I ticked off the ingredients on my fingers and Hattie nodded after each one, committing them to memory.
“If you make it, I’ll take it over,” Lucy said to me. “I’m not afraid of those germs.”
“Can’t go in the house, Miss Lucy,” Hattie said. “Nobody ’lowed in now, not even me. The health people put a big sign on the door.”
“Well, you can just leave it on the porch for them,” Ruth said to Lucy.
Hattie got to her feet, smoothing the skirt of her uniform and sniffling. She reached into the cupboard where she kept the skillets. “Let me git some breakfast for y’all before I go to the—”
“Don’t worry about it, Hattie,” Ruth said. “We’ll take care of ourselves this morning. You just get ready to go to the store.”
*
Henry came home at noon for lunch—a rarity for him. His cheeks were pale and his expression grim when he walked in the back door, and he grew even paler when he found me sweating over a pot of boiling water in the kitchen. Lucy’d found some linen for me to wrap the ham in rather than using another pillowcase, and the scent of the meat and herbs and spices filled the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m making stuffed ham for Adora’s family,” I said, putting the lid on the pot. “Her grandson—that little boy Butchie?—has polio, and—”
“I know,” Henry interrupted. “Zeke told me. But you don’t have anything to do with that family and I don’t like to see you tiring yourself in the kitchen. Let Hattie take care of it.”
“Nonsense.” I smiled.
“She don’t let me lift a finger, Mr. Hank,” Hattie said. She was slicing tomatoes on the counter near the sink.
I knew my face was glistening, tendrils of my hair glued to my forehead and cheeks. It felt good to be doing something other than stewing about my suddenly consummated marriage. Hattie had complained that I was in her way in the kitchen, but I thought she was only teasing. I had the feeling she was touched that I was making something for her relatives.
“I’m enjoying it,” I said to Henry.
He looked at me blankly, that worrisome pallor in his face, and I knew there was more on his mind than his distress at finding me in the kitchen. I touched his arm.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned away from me, setting his briefcase on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs. “Just some problems with the factory,” he said. “If it’s not the boiler, it’s the spray booth. If it’s not the spray booth, it’s the kiln. We had a near accident with the boring machine today because it malfunctioned.” He sighed. “Always something that needs attention.”
Lucy suddenly burst into the room. “You’re home!” she said to Henry. “Did you hear about Butchie?”
He nodded. “I told Zeke he could take time off to drive Honor to the hospital in Charlotte so she could be with him,” he said, “but she’s under quarantine, and it looks like she wouldn’t have been able to see him anyhow. Zeke drove all the way over there and they told him no one can visit Butchie for the first two weeks.”
“First two weeks!” Lucy exclaimed. “He’ll have to be there that long?”
I knew Butchie could be in the hospital much, much longer than two weeks, but didn’t say anything. Everyone seemed too upset as it was.
“Could be a very long time,” Henry said. “Polio doesn’t generally go away quickly.” He looked around the room at all three of us. “By the way,” he said, “I told Zeke to give the hospital our phone number, since Adora doesn’t have a phone. Just in case they need to get in touch with an update on his condition.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hank,” Hattie said. “I don’t know what Honor’s gonna do without her baby boy home to dote on.”
“She’ll have him back in no time,” Lucy said, patting Hattie’s arm.
“Should someone get in touch with…” I tried to remember the name of Butchie’s father. “Del, is it?” I asked.
For a few seconds, no one said a word. Then finally, Hattie spoke up.
“Is there a way?” She looked hopefully at Henry.
He hesitated. “I doubt it,” he said finally. “But I’ll look into it.” He shot me a look that told me I shouldn’t meddle. I supposed the last thing Del needed was to worry about his son when he was overseas, fighting for his country, in danger every day.
*
I made the stuffed ham, wrapped it in waxed paper, and set it in the refrigerator to chill. I knew it would do little to ease that family’s worries, but at least it would keep them fed. I tried to imagine what it was like for little Butchie to be without his mother, unable to move parts of his body, struggling to breathe. If it hurt me to imagine him scared and separated from his family, what must it be like for Honor? Being pregnant and losing my baby seemed to have made me more sensitive to anything having to do with motherhood.
When Henry came home from the factory in the early evening, he and Lucy took the ham over to Adora’s.
“Shall I come too?” I asked. I felt as though I should go with them, since the ham was my contribution.
“No,” they both answered at the same time.
“No point to it,” Henry added, “since we can’t even go inside. We’ll let them know you made it though.”
I packed the ham in a large paper bag and handed it to Lucy. As the two of them left by the back door, Henry stopped. He turned back to me, touched my shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said. “It was kind of you to do this.”
46
May 27, 1944
Dear Tess,
I felt very excited as I read your letter! I hope Henry agreed to your plan to have your marriage “voided,” though frankly I can’t imagine Mac ever willingly admitting to impotence! You left me with a cliff-hanger, so please fill me in as soon as you can. I want you to come home!
Speaking of home, though, I’m afraid there’s a snag. You asked if you could live with Mom and me for a while, and up to a few days ago, that would have been possible. But I’ve decided to move out. I don’t know if I ever told you about my coworker Sarah, but we are getting an apartment together. It’s the second story of one of those row houses by St. Leo’s. You know where I mean? It’s really cute and already furnished, but it’s very small. Sarah and I will each have a tiny bedroom. Then there’s a little living room and a miniscule kitchen. It’s all we can afford, but it will do until Mac and I get married, assuming this war ever ends. I’m so sorry, but there won’t be room for you to stay with us. I can talk to Sarah to see if she’d agree to let you sleep on our couch for a few days until you find a place of your own. I feel terrible turning you away!
No, there isn’t much polio here, as far as I know. It sounds dreadful. I hope it doesn’t get too serious there.
Love,
Gina