Pandemic–First Five Chapters
Pam November 29th, 2008
Denver
October, 1918
Chapter One
We buried my mother today, under an oppressively hot sun. Now in the cool of afternoon shadows, church bells tolled out across the city, heralding another death. I stood alone by the bay windows in the parlor, hoping I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Just then, a hand squeezed my shoulder, jarring me.
“Come join us, Carrie,” my aunt said, invading my private little refuge.
It was more a command than an invitation. I followed her to the love seat, my gaze slipping into the room where Mother had died. For five endless days, I stayed by her bed and bathed her burning face with cool water. I held her hands, stroked her hair, and begged her not to die. I remembered how frightened I was at the thought of being left alone. Thinking of myself when all my concern should have been for my mother.
I settled myself beside Aunt Grace. We wore identical black taffeta dresses with lace collars. On the last day of her sister’s life, my aunt had stitched them up on her Singer sewing machine. She must have been ready, known something I hadn’t.
“You should try to eat something, dear,” she said. Aunt Grace resembled my mother. They shared the same high cheekbones, wide-set eyes, and dark hair. But their smiles were different. Mother’s had been warm and vibrant. Aunt Grace rarely smiled, and when she did, her lips seemed stuck together, pressed into a hard line.
“I’m not hungry.” My lungs felt hollow and empty. I glanced around the room and tried to take a deep breath. My brother Ben, home on leave from his army encampment in Boulder, sat on one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace. He was stuck talking to Uncle Clyde, Aunt Grace’s husband. Our neighbors, the Lamberts, perched on the edge of the sofa, politely nibbling their cake. They’d lost both their sons in the last few months, one to the war, and their younger boy to influenza. Now they were here, mourning someone else.
On the wall above them hung one of Mother’s watercolors. It was a view of Mt. Evans from Denver. The bulk of the mountain loomed out of the background, and colors and shapes suggested the city at its feet. Mother had struggled with that painting, mixing colors over and over and splattering them onto her smock. That was the image I wanted to hold onto and cherish. Not the horrifying sight of blood oozing from her mouth and nose before she died.
This was not the celebration of her life Mother deserved. Not only were my mother’s friends absent, but Ben’s and mine, too. Only a few days ago, the mayor had banned public funerals. My best friend, Sarah Ryan, had rung me up and promised to visit. But I knew she was scared of getting the flu if she stepped her foot over the threshold.
I leaned forward a little and listened in on the conversation between Ben and Uncle Clyde.
“So, it’s back to Boulder for you tomorrow, eh Ben?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben answered.
“Then what?”
“In a week or so, I’ll take a train to the east coast. Then it’s off to France.”
“General Pershing needs more doughboys at the front. Every patriotic young man should be fighting the Huns for the honor of our country,” Uncle Clyde said.
Ben clenched his jaw, but said nothing.
“If you ask me,” my uncle continued, “the influenza problem among the troops is exaggerated. Some boys are just cowards at heart, trying to shirk their duty.”
That was enough for Ben. He shot to his feet and excused himself. I’d heard my uncle make his self-righteous proclamations so many times I wanted to scream. He’d been a saloon keeper until Denver went dry in 1916. Since then, he and Aunt Grace had to scrape by until Uncle Clyde became a Liberty Bond salesman. That was right after America entered the war. He preyed on the innocent and helpless, making them feel unpatriotic if they didn’t pay up.
Clyde was an ignorant fool. Everyone knew the Spanish flu raged through the army encampments, killing soldiers before they could even get to Europe. The safest place for Ben was right here with me, but there was no stopping the U.S. Army or the will of the President.
I rose and began to gather up dishes and cups. As I passed Uncle Clyde on the way to the kitchen, he jumped up and threw an arm around my shoulder. Before I could shrug him off, he pulled me closer. Then, loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, “Now that Ben’s leaving, Grace and I want you to live with us.”
Only if I were truly desperate, I thought. “No. Thank you, but I’m staying right here. It’s what Mother would have wanted.” Actually, I had no idea what my mother might have wanted. Worn down by fever and delirium, she hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences while she waited to die. A couple of times she raised her hand and brushed my cheek, and I knew that somewhere inside she worried about how her daughter, who could do only the simplest of household tasks, would survive on her own.
When I tried to wriggle away from Clyde’s grasp, he pressed his arm hard against me. He reeked of brilliantine, the oil he smeared on his hair to keep it slicked back. His suit radiated stale waves of cigar smoke. I slammed the heel of my shoe onto his toe.
“Unh,” he grunted, and I made my escape.
In the kitchen, I unloaded my stack of plates and cups. I looked out at the side yard while I tried to compose myself. If only I were outside shuffling through the bright yellow leaves. I wanted my real life back, the one with school and friends, and especially my mother.
My tears dripped down into the sink like a leaky faucet. Ben came up behind me, and I pressed my face into his chest. The scratchy wool of his uniform rubbed against my cheek. Don’t leave me Ben, I wanted to say. Don’t go.
“Moving in with Aunt Grace and Uncle Clyde isn’t such a bad idea, CJ,” he said.
“Please don’t make me live with them, Ben,” I pleaded.
“Even if it would give me peace of mind? I’m your guardian now, you know. You’re barely sixteen, hardly old enough to live on your own.”
“I’ll be fine. I have the house and the money Mother and Father left us.”
Ben backed away and shot me an irritated look. “You have the house, all right, and all the problems that go along with it. The roof leaks and the gutters need cleaning. As soon as the weather turns, you’ll have to shovel coal for the furnace.”
I interrupted. “I’m not worried about any of that. According to the Denver Post, the war won’t last much longer. You’ll be home in no time.”
”And, my God, CJ,” Ben went on, as though he hadn’t even heard me, “with the influenza epidemic, all sorts of folks are roaming around with no place to go.”
“That’s not true!” I protested.
“It’s been in the papers, Carrie. Orphans, and people who’ve been evicted from their homes because of flu.”
“And you think they’re going to come here? Why would they choose our house over all the fine homes in Denver?”
Aunt Grace interrupted, her voice insistent. How much of our conversation had she heard?
“Ben is right, Carrie. You shouldn’t stay here by yourself. You’re an orphan now, dear. Why not move in with Clyde and me, at least until Ben is home?”
“I’ll think about it,” I lied. I didn’t consider myself an orphan. Even though Mother and Father were both gone now, I still had Ben. I might not know much about how to run a home, but I could learn. I wasn’t helpless.
At the front door, I hugged Aunt Grace. Uncle Clyde helped her with her coat. “We’ll come by soon to check on you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.
And I won’t let you in. I made a mental note to keep the doors locked.
On their way out, the Lamberts paused to say goodbye. Maude Lambert took my face in her strong hands. “You’re a brave girl, Carrie.”
I knew who was brave, and it wasn’t me. Never me.
I threw my arms around her. “How can I ever thank you, Mrs. Lambert?” Without her help, I wouldn’t have slept, wouldn’t have eaten, after Mother came down with the flu.
Mr. Lambert nodded at me. “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”
Since I’d never done any of the jobs Ben had mentioned, I was sure I’d wear out a path between our house and theirs. And soon.
#
The next morning I waited on the front porch while Ben loaded his bag into the taxi parked in the street. Another day promising plenty of sunshine, still unnaturally warm. Ben bounded back up the porch steps and wrapped his arms around me.
“I guess there’s nothing I can say to change your mind about moving.”
“No, and let’s not waste these last few moments arguing about it.”
He released me and clenched his jaw. “Damn stubborn girl.”
I smiled and thought how handsome Ben looked in his uniform. I’d inherited Mother’s dark hair and brown eyes, but Ben was fair-haired like Father had been. He’d grown tall and rangy during his college years. At twenty-one, Ben had barely graduated before being called up for military service last June. Mother had been furious, but Ben would have joined up even if he hadn’t been drafted. Like all the other young men, he wanted to help defeat the Kaiser.
“Stay away from those hussies who follow the troop trains,” I joked. “You might fall for one of them.”
Ben laughed. “My little Carrie Jane,” he said, studying my face. Then he kissed me goodbye and was gone.
I paused a moment before going back in. If something happened to Ben, I couldn’t bear it. The terrible stories in the newspaper about mustard gas and soldiers standing in water up to their ankles in the trenches tormented me. Bullets delivered death sharp and clean, but there were slower and more torturous ways to die.
One thing I was truly grateful for. Thank God, Ben hadn’t pressed me further for so adamantly refusing to live with Aunt Grace and Uncle Clyde; hadn’t asked my reasons. I could never have told him the truth, because the truth was raw, like a wound. The truth shamed me and burned my cheeks red whenever I thought of it.
The last time Aunt Grace and Uncle Clyde had visited, before my mother’s illness, I’d ended up alone in the parlor with my uncle while Mother and Aunt Grace washed the dishes. When I tried to leave the room, he stood up and blocked my way. I tried to push past him, but he grabbed me and pulled me close. I remembered the sound of my heart. Ca-boom. Ca-boom. And the bulk of his body against mine.
“You’re a pretty thing, Miss Carrie,” he’d said. He blew his foul cigar breath in my face.
Then, before I had time to react, he put his mouth on mine. Not like a kiss at all, but brutal. I pushed hard against his chest and jerked my face to the side. When he finally let me go, his hand brushed across my body. I heard him laughing as I ran upstairs to my room. I’d slammed the door shut and buried my face in my pillow, to stifle my sobs.
After that day, I wondered what I had ever done to encourage his advances. Alone, I would wait out the war and the influenza epidemic. I prayed that my uncle would be so consumed with selling Liberty Bonds, he would forget all about me.
For now, I’d see what I could do about the things that needed fixing around the house. I changed into an old shirt and some baggy trousers of Ben’s, cinching them tight around my waist. Then I headed next door to borrow the Lambert’s tall ladder. Might as well get started on the gutters.