A suspenseful historical romance: LOVE'S DELICATE BLOSSOM
EXCERPT FROM LOVE'S DELICATE BLOSSOM
By Ada Brownell
Author's note: This book is from the era of the 1918 flu pandemic. The author's mother, Rita Shepherd, nearly died from the sickness, and her brother did die. The book relates some of the details Ada's mother related about her experience, including a glimpse of heaven. Although the book has a lot of truth in it, and some of the scenes happened, the novel is fiction.
CHAPTER 14
The professor had an earnestness about him
that clung to his shiny black suit, stiffly starched white shirt, and the black
and white spotted tie he wore. He put his hand to his tie, stretched his neck,
apparently trying to make it more comfortable.
“More of our soldiers are returning home
from the battlefields with disease than are being wounded” he said. “That might
sound better than having your head blown off by a bomb, but communicable
diseases like mumps, flu, typhus and cholera can be just as deadly as a bullet
or a bomb.”
A chill wiggled up Ritah’s spine.
“Pneumonia, influenza, tuberculosis, body
lice which causes trench fever, and other parasites are causing our soldiers
great grief. When they come home they need someone to take care of them. That
might be you.”
Another chill made Ritah shudder.
She
feared for Stuart and hoped Bud wouldn’t be drafted when he got old enough. She’d
already seen one hospital tent where soldiers were being treated for sickness
and injuries and she kept her distance.
“Sanitation
is utmost where there is communicable disease,” Smith continued. “What do your
parents do to sanitize your home when someone is sick?”
Rita
stuck up her hand. “We wash everything with lye soap, and sometimes boil the
clothing. We don’t have any other kind of soap, and it’s great at cleaning. I
heard it even prevents head lice.”
Smith nodded his head and
the white hair he’d combed over his bald spot lifted, then settled again. "Lye
soap is a great disinfectant, especially if you have some tea tree root in it.
Some hospitals and other places use hydrogen peroxide to disinfect sick rooms.
In 1913 five businessmen
invested one hundred dollars each to found a commercial liquid bleach factory.
They called it the Electro-Alkaline Company. A year later they began production
of a concentrated industrial-strength bleach with 21 percent sodium
hypochlorite. It will make white fabric really white, and it’s also a
disinfectant. You’ve probably heard of it. The brand name is-Clorox.”
“Can just anybody buy it?” one male student
asked.
Smith smoothed his hair, turned his head to the
side and said, “I think so. It might be the greatest thing we’ve found yet to
clean sick rooms and infectious clothing.”
One of the male students with a deep voice
coughed and it sounded as if he was tearing his lungs up. Ritah stuck up her
hand. “What is the best treatment we have for pneumonia?”
The
doctor glared at the student who had coughed. “Cover your mouth, young man,
when you cough. If you have a doctor, you’d better go see him.”
A
rumble of low voices went through the crowded classroom.
“Mustard
packs sometimes can help a great deal with pneumonia,” Smith continued. “But
pneumonia still is a deadly disease. Too many people of all ages die from it.”
When
class was over, Ritah almost wished she hadn’t taken the class. Too many people
she loved were at risk.
********ADVANCE TO PAGE 209
Ritah woke up in bed,
aching all over, burning up and struggling to breathe.
The heels on Mama’s
shoes kept stomping about the house, and the noise seemed like a sledge hammer
to Ritah’s head.
Then she remembered.
Bud was sick. She had to get up and help Mama take care of him. He probably
needed water right now. That was one thing the health professor said. “Get
clear liquids down the flu patient. Bud hadn’t been drinking much.
She struggled and sat
up. Everything went dark. When she stirred again, she hung partly off the bed
and she knew she’d almost fallen in the floor. But she had to get up and help
Bud. Keep him breathing. Keep him brea--.
Deep sleep keep
pulling her down, but finally she woke enough to cry, “Mama.”
Yet Mama didn’t come.
Perhaps Mama hadn’t heard her call because her voice was so raspy. “Mom.”
Someone talked softly
in Bud’s room. Perhaps he was better now.
She threw the
blankets aside and tried to sit up again. She barely lifted herself from the
bed before she fell back again. The fever dropped Ritah back into darkness.
The sun slipped
beneath the trees outside Ritah’s window, and her eyes popped open. “I have to
get up. I have to get up and help. I
have to--.
She heard Daddy’s
voice in Bud’s room. “Is Bud better now? Oh, Lord, help Bud to be better.”
Dizziness consumed
her again, but she needed to talk to somebody. Wanting to shout, she lifted her
shoulders and looked toward the door. “Is anybody out there?”
She faintly
remembered Doc checking on her, Mama putting cool cloths to her head, but then
Daddy was there—when he shouldn’t have been. No. Daddy will get the flu.
Then deep sleep
turned the lights out.
She aroused to voices
in the next room and then Mama finally came into her side. “You’re awake,
Ritah. That’s good. I have another mustard poultice for you.”
Her mother seemed to
be a long distance away, but yet Ritah was so happy to see her. “How’s Bud? I
wanted to get up and help, but I couldn’t make it.”
“Speak up, Ritah. I
can’t hear you.”
“I said…” Deep sleep drew her back.
The mustard plaster
was hot. So hot. It hurt.”
Mama pulled down the
window shade. “Everybody’s praying for you,” Mama said.
Ritah struggled to
get her eyes open. Mama looked tired. Mama needed help. I need to get up.
Yet her body didn’t
move, but she opened her eyes enough to see her wonderful mother in the dim
light, and tears ran down Mama’s cheeks.
“Don’t cry for me,
Mama. I’m going to be all right.” But Ritah realized no sound came from her
mouth.
The next morning the
house was silent. No one walked around, and if anyone talked they spoke in
whispers. Daddy apparently didn’t fear catching the flu anymore, because he’d
been inside for hours.
“Mama. Daddy. What’s
going on?”
Then deep man-size
groaning and weeping filled the house, and the screen door loudly clapped shut,
and she couldn’t hear the crying anymore. At first she thought it was Bud in
terrible pain or something, but he wouldn’t be going outside.
That afternoon she
heard the parson talking in low tones and she couldn’t understand what he said.
Then he came into her room laid hands on her and prayed.
“God we know you hold
the power of life and death, but you demonstrated when you were on earth that
you could heal sick bodies, and we’re asking you now to touch Ritah.”
Mama was crying again
in the background. Ritah tried so hard to tell her not to weep, but her voice
box simply wouldn’t work.
They disappeared and
before long the most beautiful place Ritah had ever entered opened before her.
Flowers lined the shiny path under her feet. The whole landscape was filled
with flowers. Red roses. Yellow daffodils, Blue bells. Orange Tulips. White
magnolias. Lavender lilacs. Lilies of many different colors.
She reached out and
touched a white lily, and rubbed the silky petals between her fingers.
Then it seemed Ritah
looked down and could see herself lying in the bed. She also could see into
Bud’s bedroom.
She awakened rubbing
the sheet between her fingers. Her head no longer hurt. No dizziness seized
her. Even though she still had some congestion, she could breathe easier.
“Mama?” she called.
Her mother quickly
came to her side. Ritah reached for her hand.
“Mama, I had the most
amazing dream. It looked like heaven and when I came back I could see me in the
bed and Bud in the next room.
A deep sob tore from
her lungs, clawing at her insides as the cry came out. “Mama, Bud is dead,
isn’t he?”
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