Rescued

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

June 11, 1937 ~ Journal of Dr. Walter Stevens ~ Henry had dinner tonight at his brother’s in Osceola. He came back to the camper drunk and angry. Seems his brother reneged on some promise to make him law partner. He stood by the pool a few minutes, then stripped down. I teased him—the women of Osceola wouldn’t like a man that smelled like fish. Argued with him. Even wrestled him down, but Henry knocked me back. Slammed me against the rock wall. Stubborn. Stupid. Had him by the ear—before he went under. He gasped and seemed to shudder, sucked in water, and shoved me away.

He never came back up.

#

Present Day ~ Noell Carpenter stretched to her tiptoes on the concrete step and peeked through the diamond-shaped window in the front door.

Sigh. God, how does Gamma live in this?

She closed her eyes.

Breathe.

The familiar terror rose in her chest. She swallowed it down and checked through the window again. The front porch had been enclosed years ago—originally planned for a sun room. But as Gam had walked back and forth, in and out, things had piled up. Until the new room was packed. A narrow path trailed through the mess—from the entrance to the door leading into the living room.

Piles of clothing. Boxes stacked high. Full shopping bags, cardboard. It had maybe started out fairly organized—with flattened cardboard boxes, labeled totes of clothing, old games—all categorized. An old duck from a grocery store bath soap display crowned one pile. It was a wonder it hadn’t slid off the pile of magazines it reigned over.

Another item caught her eye. Always did. Every time she peeked in the front door, or when she tiptoed past the piles into the house, it stood out from the rest of the hoard.

It was an antique coffee cup with a business name on it—an advertisement giveaway back then, she guessed. She could read it from outside the door. “Osceola Times ~ Your favorite Paper with Up-To-Date News.” There was a chip out of the bottom rim. Noell liked to imagine the newspaper editor slamming it down on his desk, declaring the newest article to be the best of the century. Someday she would ask Gam if she could have it.

She opened the screen door, propped it with her foot and pushed the wood inner door, careful to ease it against the ceiling-high stack of newspapers behind it. Didn’t want to start an avalanche. She might be the one buried.

Gamma called from inside. “You there, Sweetie?”

Sigh.

“Yeah, Gam. Give me a minute.” She slipped her backpack off her shoulders. “Or two.”

Now to unzip her backpack. One zipper ran over the top to the sides. One zipped across the front. Another at the bottom. She pulled a sheet of paper towel out and carefully unfolded it, laying it on the front step beside her feet and set the backpack on it, making sure the backpack didn’t overlap the paper.

Step one: done.

Next, she shook a plastic shopping bag, crackling in the breeze. Standing flamingo-style, she slipped her foot out of her thrift store boot and pulled a new white bedroom slipper from the backpack. Her feet went on auto-pilot: into the slipper and into the house with that foot. The boot went inside the plastic shopping bag.

Only the other boot was stuck. A strategically placed brick beside the doorway became her boot puller. The boot came loose, fell on the step and bounced onto the sidewalk below.

Sigh. Some days it was so easy.

Not today.

A tear plopped onto the canvas backpack, darkening the blue fabric.

Deep breath.

She pulled the other slipper on, stepped down and retrieved the wayward boot.

She had been tired before, but now …

She stepped inside the porch. The sight of the piles of boxes—some leaning, one exploding across the side of the only path through—always made her gasp.

She had seen it all before. She peeked inside before entering everyday—ever since she had grown tall enough to see through the little window in the front door.

She stood just inside and waited, her eyes pinched shut. Her breathing became short gasps.

She knew what was coming. It happened every time she entered the house. Somedays were just worse than others.

First one pile of magazines appeared to slide her way. Then the stack of boxes marked “Clothing” she had tried to stabilize the day before, toppled. Putrid piles of hoarded junk floated toward her, opening up her forever nightmare. Everywhere she glanced—the clutter, the boxes, the clothing—morphed into water crashing into her.

Something grabbed her foot; the slipper floated away. She choked and struggled to breathe. The more she thrashed and kicked, the more she was pulled under—under the water and trash.

Even though the water appeared murky and cloudy, yellow eyes glared at her; an evil grin taunted her—daring her to break free. She tried to pry her foot loose, but grimy fingers grabbed her hand.

She kicked with her other foot and the hand transformed into Mommy’s hand, the face changed into Mommy’s—eyes terrified, mouth open in a muffled scream. The face disappeared, the water receded. Boxes and clutter on the porch once again.

She coughed and sputtered. “Oh God! Oh God! Take away that nightmare!” Couldn’t let Gam see. She wiped at the water on her face. Water. Always water.

It was just a … dream, right?

The only memory she had of her mom was always a terrifying dream. If she told Gam, Gam would cry. Every time she woke from that dream—from the first time till now, she prayed, “Jesus make me strong. Jesus, take away the dream. Jesus, please take away the scaredy-cat in me.”

She did it now. “Jesus please take away my fears and take away that dream.”

Whew.

The slipper had landed on top of the magazines.

How did that happen, if it was just a dream? She shook her head, her chin jutted out. She would not cry—at least not now.

She hopped over to the slipper, shoved her foot in and slung the backpack over her shoulder, reading the antique mug as she walked by.

Something didn’t smell right. Gam always insisted that no critter could find its way in. The house was tight. Noell wasn’t so sure. Something smelled … dead.

She opened the door to the living room.

“My baby’s home!” Gam sang it out and shuffled to her, using a walker. Step into it. Pick it up. Move it forward and start over. Almost a dance. Almost.

“Gam.” Noell hugged her and dripped on her plaid shirt.

“I didn’t know it was raining.” Gamma tipped her head to look out the window. “You’re all wet.”

“I know. Sprinklers.” No sense freaking Gamma out. Noel was already there herself. No sense in having them both terrified.

Some days she could feel Gam shrinking. Today was one of those days. But the smaller she seemed to grow, more love poured from this woman who had taken her in years ago.

“How was the job hunt, dear?” Gamma gravitated back to her spot—the only clear spot on the sofa. That piece of furniture was her pride and joy. She had paid cash for a $3,000 Italian leather sofa way back when. And now magazines, newspapers, documents obscured the beautiful red upholstery. The clutter probably protected the leather.

“Not great. I have some prospects, I think. The hospital was interested. The newspaper office didn’t have any openings, but she said I would be perfect for their office.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“They like you and see that you are smart. That’s what that means.” Soft gray curls fell away from her face. Gam was the oldest grandma that looked the youngest, in spite of the walker. Her hair was longer, naturally curly, her eyes were snappy behind glasses and her mouth was snappy, too. She was a pretty lady in spite of her age of seventy-eight. She even dressed younger. She lived in jeans.

And she was fun to talk to—share a girl joke or two, but no place to sit. Not a place for anyone to enjoy Gamma’s company.

After the nightmare Noell had just experienced, she needed some Gamma.

“How about the city office? Any openings there? I used to love working there. And I’m sure you would be welcome on my recommendations.” She straightened. “I won awards there and bonuses.” She pointed to Noell. “You could too.”

“Well, I’ll put my application in there, too, so we’ll see.” She shrugged. She moved to the stairway. “Need anything before I go upstairs, Gam? More water? A snack?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I just had a cookie.” She popped her head up. “Made some fresh today. Help yourself. Take them upstairs with you.”

Noell headed to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, counted to five, and scooped up two cookies. It was okay. They were fresh. Besides. Gam made them. She waved at Gam as she took the stairway, two steps at a time, and opened the door to her bedroom.

Ahhh. Breathe. She stepped inside and silently closed the door behind her.

She leaned against the back of the door and surveyed her room. Pristine. Sparse was a better word. Only two mementos sat out on her desk: the only thing reminding her of Mom—a baby bracelet. And Gam’s Bible. That antique cup would look good next to the Bible.

She slid her backpack off her shoulders and kicked off her slippers. There was only one place she ever felt okay about doing that, and it was here in her room. The bed was made. Neat freak. No clutter. Closet door was closed.

She changed clothes and plopped down on her bed. What a day. Somebody had to hire her. She had to get out of here and find a place of her own. She dreamed of where she would live. Something with a little space. It would take money. She had saved ever since she was old enough to sweep Gamma’s floors before all the hoarding had begun. Paper routes. Babysitting. Scooping snow. Lawn mowing.

She had even worked for Mr. Hardesty in his body shop. At first, she answered the phone and did minimal bookwork, but as he got to know her and she stuck around, she learned how to repair dents, touch-ups, detailing. She figured how to take apart an inside door panel one day when Mr. Hardesty was away. The customer had been in a hurry, and Noell tinkered until she fixed the door handle. Pretty proud of that one.

She should call him and see if he needed any help. He’d had to replace her when he needed more help and she was still in school. They’d both been bummed.

Her phone buzzed. She kept the ringer off so Gam wouldn’t worry or get startled. Gam still had the landline going, so she was okay with Noell having her own cell phone. Besides, Noell paid for it herself. All good.

“Hello?”

“Yes, is this Noell Carpenter?”

“Yes. This is she.”

“This is Dottie at Osceola Community Hospital. I’d like to let you know you have a job here if it still works for you.”

Noell sat up. “Cool. That’s great.”

“You’ll need to come in for training tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, sure … I mean, yes, of course.” She slid to the edge of the bed. “What time do you want me there? What should I wear? Do I need to bring anything?“

Dottie laughed on the other end. “How about nine tomorrow morning? Just wear casual and we’ll get you set up with a uniform, depending on what department you end up in. We have several opportunities open, so we’ll see where you fit. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sure.”

“And we’ll do some lab testing, blood work and urine testing. Drug testing. It’s just routine. We do it on everybody, even the doctors.”

Pictures of blood smears and needles spun in front of Noell’s face. Her mouth went dry. Sweat seeped under her shirt. She cleared her throat. “Um, what opportunities are open, if I may ask?”

“Oh … what we call the bedpan brigade and housekeeping. Nothing too strenuous, although you do need a car to drive back and forth. Or a bike. Whatever it takes to get around, back and forth.”

“I can ride a bike. But, bedpans? What will I do with bedpans?”

Laughter. “People poop and pee in bedpans, so you’ll be helping patients use them and when they are done, you dispose of the poop and pee.”

“Dispose of it? Um … where? How?”

“Into the toilet. We have nifty sprayers hooked into the toilet so you don’t have to use your hands to clean it out. Just spray away. Sometimes you need to wipe the bedpan out if it’s especially … gooey, but not usually.”

Noell belched and fell back onto her bed, her phone slid onto the floor.

“Really easy. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow … you there? Still interested? Noell? Are you still there?”

Noell covered her mouth and gagged. She scrambled for the phone, but the bathroom called her first.

“Noell? Noell?”

She leaned over the sparkling clean toilet in her private bathroom and threw up. Gah. Dottie said good-bye. The phone buzzed.

Guess the hospital won’t work out.