"Bertina? Oh, Joe, I’m—I’m…" Her eyes shimmered with tears, and for a few seconds they looked at one another, eyes wet.
"Come in," she said, opening the door wider.
"No, no. I need to be with Papa. There’s a lot to do, for the funeral is tomorrow." His grief-filled voice wrung her heart.
"I understand." Funerals were immediate these days. She’d seen the stacks of coffins outside the mortuary ready for delivery.
The next morning, getting dressed in a black gown for the funeral, Laura heard a thud from Sarah’s room.
Rushing into the bedroom, she saw that her mother had collapsed beside the night-stand.
"Mother! Mother!" she called frantically but couldn’t rouse her.
Panic-stricken, she raced to the phone, cranking the handle for the operator and shouting Joe’s number.
In less than two minutes Joe was there helping carry Mrs. Mitchell to her own bed.
"Joe," she said, working feverishly to make her mother comfortable. "First Sarah, now Mother." She looked fearfully into Joe’s eyes, then spun around. "I’ll bring a basin of water to bathe Mother’s face."
Joe glanced at Maude. "Her color is not too bad… it may be exhaustion."
"I hope so," she breathed. She knew it was almost impossible to get a doctor. The flu centers helped, however. You could go and purchase medicine and call for free advice. Over two thousand cases had been reported in the city, and the hospitals were jammed to overflowing.
Returning, she pressed the damp cloth on her mother’s flaming cheeks and forehead and gazed wordlessly at Joe.
His black eyes swam with compassion. "I think it’s the flu, Laura. I checked her tongue, and the tip is bright red."
A definite symptom, she thought in despair, then pressed her lips together. This horrible disease wasn’t going to lick them!
"You shouldn’t be here alone with two flu patients," Joe said.
"And who will help me? No, I’m able to do this, and besides, we Mitchells are strong like lions." She tried to smile, but look what had happened to Bertina! Sadly she looked at Joe. "You must leave. The mass is at ten o’clock." She looked down at her black dress. "I’m sorry I won’t be able to go to the church. I meant to."
He grasped her arms. "Don’t worry about the funeral," he said gently. "Mama will know your heart is with her… that’s all that matters."
Quietly she moved into his arms and they held one another. Then Joe stepped back, turned, and was gone.
A moan caused her to wheel around.
"My head," Mrs. Mitchell gasped. "It’s splitting apart! I ache so. My throat… my joints."
"Here, drink this." Laura handed her a glass of water mixed with medicine, which they fortunately had.
Dutifully Maude drank the cloudy liquid.
"You’ll feel better now," Laura said, reaching for her wrist and feeling the unstable pulse. She was alarmed but tried to smile reassuringly. "Lie back, try to sleep, and when you awake, you’ll be as good as new."
"Sarah?" her mother whispered, her fingers plucking restlessly at the quilt.
"Sarah was awake a few minutes ago and asking for food. Don’t worry about Sarah, Mother. I’m the best nurse you can find." And the only one, she thought ruefully.
As her mother dozed fitfully, breathing rapidly, Laura thought of the epidemic. It had started overseas and traveled to New York, Boston, San Francisco. Already over three hundred and fifty thousand had died in the United States alone, the cities being the hardest hit. Why had she thought Washington would be spared? Some people said it was the Kaiser’s secret weapon, but if so, it had turned on the German people, too, killing around one hundred and fifty thousand. In India close to five million people had perished. Even the names of this pestilence were peculiar. In Hungary it was called "The Black Whip"; in Switzerland, "The Coquette," giving her favors to everyone; and "The Bolshevik Disease" in Poland. No matter what it was called, to her it was the most horrible illness imaginable! How she yearned for things to be normal again. From a bustling household, their rooms had become dark with drawn shades, and silent, except for soft retchings and dry coughs. Laura put her weary head in her hands and wept.
A moan, more like a whimper, made her straighten up. "Mother?" she said quietly. "Are you awake?"
"Yes." She gazed at Laura with bright, feverish eyes.
Laura reached for an orange wedge, and dribbling the juice on her mother’s parched, cracked lips, she thought she saw a sign of improvement.
That night Laura was more relaxed than she had been for days. Every day she talked by phone to Shawn, and everyday Joe brought her fresh fruit or vegetables, but she didn’t dare have either of the men in the house. Once in a while, however, Joe insisted and, wearing his face mask, would slip in long enough to say hello to Mrs. Mitchell and Sarah.
It shouldn’t be too long, Laura thought, until life would return to normal. Sarah, although still weak, managed to eat solid food, to dress herself, and even to sit for short periods of time with Maude.
These short respites gave Laura time to take a short walk or to sit by the river.
On Sunday, as she sat on the banks of the Potomac, she felt as if every bone in her body would melt — she was that tired. How she needed her father now! What strength he would have given her! The suffragists had been pushed out of her mind this past week, but tomorrow she intended to take part in the demonstration before the Senate wing. She had sewn her black arm band and her white dress was pressed, ready to wear. Laura took a deep breath. Tomorrow she would take on the most recalcitrant senator, just like Joan of Arc! She smiled as she pulled her cape around her shoulders and sank down on the grass with her back against an oak. It was so peaceful here as she watched the lazy waters ripple and lap against the shore. The sun made the blue river dance with silver and diamonds.
If only the Mitchells and Menottis could be together like they had been on the Fourth of July! How much fun they had had. Now all that was changed. Bertina was gone, and although Joe and Aldo were back in the store, next week Joe was to report back to Fort Myer.
She plucked a red leaf from the ground, twirling it in her fingers.
Next fall at this time she’d be in college. While she had been nursing Sarah she had had many hours to contemplate her future. More and more she was thinking of becoming a lawyer. The Women’s Movement needed doctors and lawyers. Her recent nursing experience, however, had shown her that being a physician wasn’t for her. She wanted to be around live, healthy people — not taking pulses, doling out medicine, changing bedding, and emptying bedpans. A law career was much more appealing. She could use her head in arguing for or against individuals. She wasn’t afraid of a challenge, and she knew she could help women in trouble, just like Opal Zacks. Who knows, she thought, one day she might even run for the Senate! Montana had already given women the vote as early as 1914! Wasn’t Jeanette Rankin from Montana elected to the House of Representatives?
Chuckling, she stood up. What an imagination she had!
As she walked briskly along the shore she shivered a bit in her cape against the chilly October wind. She had a slight headache and felt more like sitting down, but it was time for her mother’s medicine.
How strange that she should be caring for her mother when, for all her growing-up years, her mother had taken care of her. Fortunately Maude Mitchell was beginning to perk up and had even sat up for an hour yesterday.
Arriving home, Laura first checked the mail and was pleased to find a letter from Michael.
Eagerly she opened the envelope and scanned the contents:
October 1, 1918
Dear Mother, Sarah, and Laura,