Henry and I shook our heads. “They’ll probably want to interview my marvelous wife,” Henry said.
“Oh my gosh, I hope not,” I said, overwhelmed by the thought.
“It says here people are calling Hickory ‘polio city’ now,” Ruth said, looking at the article. “It says people roll up their car windows and cover their noses with handkerchiefs when they drive through town.”
“What nonsense.” Henry got to his feet. “You ready, Tess?”
*
There was excitement at the hospital when Henry dropped me off that morning. People were still talking about the mayor’s grandson, who was by all reports doing very well in the hospital. Even more exciting to everyone, though, was the upcoming visit from Life magazine. Sometimes in the throes of our work, we forgot what Hickory had accomplished: the creation of a fully functioning hospital in fifty-four hours. We now had ninety-two patients, an exhausted but determined staff of nurses and doctors, and dozens of cooks, custodians, maintenance men, and community volunteers. And we were saving lives every single day.
Amy Pryor was far more comfortable now that she was no longer pregnant, and although the compressions of the iron lung made it hard for her to talk, she was able to ask me about her baby. As I washed her face and combed her hair, I told her every detail I could recall about him, choking up a little, remembering how I felt as I held him in my arms while waiting for the ambulance.
“He’s perfection,” I said. “I can’t wait until you can hold him yourself.”
“Neither can I,” she whispered.
Jilly was able to go home that afternoon, and I was relieved by the timing. A damp, dark ward was to be opened in the basement of the stone building the following day, and our colored patients were going to be moved into it. I would have hated to see Jilly leave my ward and my care. I had to pry her doll away from her that morning. Toys could not go home with the children from the hospital, but as I’d promised Honor, I scrubbed the doll clean with disinfectant and dressed it in a new jumper and blouse I’d found at a toy store. I gave it back to Jilly once she left the building. She was still a bit weak, but she walked out of the hospital on her own two healthy legs into Honor’s embrace. Honor lifted her up and covered her face with kisses until Jilly protested, pleading to be let down.
One of the volunteers scrubbed Jilly’s bed and it was quickly filled by another patient. The epidemic showed no signs of abating.
My path crossed with Vincent’s only a few times that day, and each time I felt that pull, that longing that was never going to leave me. Just being able to glimpse him occasionally over the course of the day fed my soul. Of course I wanted the polio epidemic to end. It needed to end and it would end, but then Vincent would be gone. I dreaded the day he would leave and I would have to face the rest of my life without him.
Henry sent a note to me, delivered from the factory by that same young man, Mickey, who had given me a ride to the train station so long ago. The one who’d told me about Violet’s connection to Henry. He hadn’t given me as much of a warning as I’d needed, I thought. Things have gone to the dogs in my absence here, Henry wrote in the note. The phone still isn’t working. I need to stay late tonight. Let Mama know.
I got a ride home from one of the other nurses that evening. The house was dark and I remembered that Ruth was at a book club meeting. Hattie had left some chicken and collards for me in the refrigerator, and I was eating at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang.
The sun was beginning to set when I opened the door, the sky a dewy pink through the trees. A policeman stood on the step, hat in his hand, and it took me a moment to recognize him as Teddy Wright. I didn’t like Teddy. I’d never forget how coolly he’d treated me at the police station after the accident or how he’d seemed to follow me in his police car when I walked into town. Seeing him gave me a sour taste in my mouth.
“Good evening, Mrs. Kraft,” he said.
“Hello, Teddy.” I heard the chill in my voice.
“Is Hank home?”
“No, he’s not.”
“Is he at the factory?”
“I don’t know where he is tonight,” I said. I knew he was at the factory, but I felt obstinate. I didn’t feel like helping Teddy out. “Can I take a message for him?”
He looked past me as though he thought I might be lying. “You got a pen and paper? I can write it for him. And an envelope.”
I hesitated before asking him in. “Follow me,” I said as I headed toward the library.
He hung back in the doorway of the library, taking in the walls of books as I opened the desk drawer where Henry kept his stationery. I pulled out a sheet of paper and an envelope and invited him to sit at the desk.
I waited as he perched on the edge of the chair and jotted a note. He sealed it in the envelope and wrote “Hank Kraft” on the front, underlining the name several times to drive the point home that the note was for Henry and no one else.
“You got some of that sealing wax?” he asked.
“Sealing wax?” I repeated. “No. Sorry.”
“This is for his eyes only,” he said, handing the envelope to me.
“Of course,” I said, then added, “You still don’t think much of me, do you?”
“I know you saved that baby,” he said. “That’s one point in your favor.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Just be sure you give that envelope to Hank right quick,” he said, and he let himself out of the house. From the library, I watched him get into his police car. He turned the car around in our driveway and took off toward town.
I looked at the envelope in my hand. What was so important? I wondered. And why couldn’t Teddy just tell me his message and let me pass it along to Henry myself? My curiosity got the better of me and I knew I was going to read the note. I could steam the envelope open over a teakettle, although I wondered if that worked in real life as well as in fiction. I was certain to ruin the envelope, at the very least. So I would open the note the usual way and then put it in a new envelope. Simple. I used the letter opener on Henry’s blotter to slice the envelope, then pulled out the sheet of paper, flattening it on the desk. I lit a cigarette, then sat down to read the note.
Hank, the chief got some questions about you from the OPA today. The chief was in the dark, I could tell. I don’t think they know anything about Lucy helping. I didn’t let on, just listened and acted like I don’t know anything. They might have been talking about getting a search warrant. The chief told them they were barking up the wrong tree. Just wanted to let you know. I’ll keep my ears open. Teddy