Benediction (Plainsong #3)(2)

Darlin, Dad said. You all right? What’s going on?

She didn’t move, didn’t answer.

Mary. Goddamn it. What’s going on here?

He stood and bent over her. Her eyes were shut and her face was sweating and very red. But she was breathing.

Mary. Sweetheart.

He got down on his knees beside her and felt her head. She felt hot. He pulled her toward him and slid his arms under her, propping her up against the couch. Can you hear me? I got to call somebody. I’ll be right back. She made no sign. Is that all right with you if I leave a minute? I’m coming right back. He hurried out to the kitchen and called the emergency number at the hospital. Then he returned and got down on the floor again and held her and talked to her softly and kissed her cheek and brushed back her damp white hair and patted her arm and waited. After a little while he heard the siren outside and then it stopped and people came up on the front porch and knocked.

Come in here, Dad called. Christ Almighty. What are you knocking for? Come on in here.

They entered the house, two men in white shirts and black pants, and looked at Dad and his wife on the floor and knelt down and began to attend to her. What happened?

She fainted out. She was walking across the room. Then she just went down on the floor.

The younger of the men stood up and went out to the ambulance and brought back a gurney.

Can you move back, please? he said.

What’s that? Dad said. What are you saying?

Sir, you’ll need to move back so we can take care of her. Are you all right yourself? You don’t look too good.

Yeah, I’m all right. Do what you got to do, and hurry.

They lifted the old white-haired woman onto the wheeled cart and buckled the straps across her chest and legs. Dad got up from the floor and stood watching. He put his hand on her.

You won’t let nothing happen to her, he said.

No sir. We’ll do our best.

That’s not what I’m saying. Your best might not be good enough. This is my wife here. This lady means everything to me in the world.

I hear you. But—

No. I won’t have no objections on this. You do what I say. Now go on. He bent over close to her face and patted her cheek and kissed her.

The two men wheeled her out to the ambulance. Almost immediately he heard the siren start up again in front of the house, then the diminishing sound of it retreating up the street.





3


SHE STAYED in the Holt County Memorial Hospital at the south end of Main Street for most of three days. They could find nothing wrong with her except that she was old and she was working too hard and she had exhausted herself by taking care of her husband by herself.

By nightfall of that first day she was a little better. But at the hospital they said she still needed her bed rest. The nurse said, Don’t you have somebody that would come in and help you?

I don’t know, she said. Maybe. But I’m worried about my husband. He’s all alone.

Your husband told them he was all right there in the house.

Told who?

The men who brought you in the ambulance. They asked him and apparently he said he was all right.

Well he isn’t all right. He wouldn’t let on how he really is. Not ever to strangers.

They said he seemed like he could be a little bit hard to get along with.

No, he isn’t. He just gets set in his ways about things. He doesn’t mean anything bad by it. But he’s not well at all. He’s alone in that house without me.

Isn’t there a neighbor or somebody?

Maybe there is. She looked across the room. Would you bring me that phone?

You want to call a neighbor? It’s kind of late, Mrs. Lewis.

I want to talk to Dad. I want to speak to my husband.

But you shouldn’t be talking to anyone on any phone right now. You’re not supposed to be upsetting yourself.

Would you bring it to me, she said. I want to make a private call, please.

The nurse looked at her and then brought the telephone and set it on the bedside stand and went out. It took a long time for him to answer.

Yeah. This is Dad Lewis. His voice sounded rough and old.

Honey, are you doing okay?

Is that you?

Yes. It’s me. Are you doing okay?

You’re supposed to be asleep. I thought you’d be resting.

I wanted to see how you are.

Did they say I called this morning and another time this afternoon?

No. They didn’t tell me that.

Yeah. Well. I did.

What did they tell you about me? she said.

They said you need to rest. You need to take it easy and get your strength up.

I’m all tired out, honey, she said. When I got here and woke up I was all wet with sweat.

You were wet when they come for you. You don’t remember that.

No.

But will you be all right, do they say?

I don’t have any pep. That’s all.

Outside the room people were talking in the hallway, and the nurse had come back in to check on her.

She’s telling me I got to get off the phone now. Did you get some supper, honey?

Yeah. I had something.

What did you have?

I heated up some soup. But you need to take care of yourself, Dad said. Will you do that?

Good night, honey, she said.



They still always slept together as they had since the first night so long ago, in the old soft double bed in the downstairs bedroom, even though he was sick and dying now and moved restlessly in the bed in the night. She insisted on being there close beside him, she wouldn’t have it otherwise. Now in the night it was unfamiliar and lonely, and he was desolate without her. At three o’clock he woke and went to the bathroom and came back to bed and lay awake thinking for a long time, until the room began to get a little gray and he could make out the brass handles on the dresser drawers and the mirror on the door to the closet.