“I still love him,” Christine said simply.
“Well, for Pete’s sake, if you still feel that way after all this time, go after him. Only don’t act so desperately. He likes people to be gay. Laugh it up,” I said, making like Dear Abby or somebody. “Come on,” I added briskly. “Powder your nose and let’s have lunch. I’ll call Nettie and see how Betty Lou is while you’re fixing your face.”
Christine smiled. Ten years seemed to have dropped from her face. “Betty Lou?” she repeated conversationally.
“She’s still sick. Nettie has her at our house now.”
“That Nettie!” Christine shook her head, laughing at nothing, as a person does who is suddenly relieved of an enormous pressure. It was a little unsettling to see her change so fast, but I put it out of my mind and called Nettie. She said she’d telephoned Doctor Carberry and he had prescribed something to lower Betty’s temperature and I wasn’t to worry.
Relieved, I went out to lunch with Christine. But, honestly, she talked so much and so fast and about such disconnected subjects that by the time we got back to school my head was splitting. I even felt a little sick to my stomach, but whether from nerves or what I don’t know. Anyway, I left work early, about four o’clock, but I didn’t tell Roger, figuring he’d throw a fit if he thought I was sick.
Nettie was in the hall putting on her coat when I camp in. “What are you doing home so early, Marta?” she asked and I thought for a minute she was going to feel my forehead the way my dad used to when I was little.
“Just a headache, that’s all. Now don’t you start worrying about me. Roger is enough!”
Nettie frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it again. “You’d better lie down,” she said. “I’m going to the drugstore to pick up Betty Lou’s prescription.” Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her purple coat.
Something in her voice made my stomach muscles constrict. “Is Betty Lou worse?”
“I don’t know.” Nettie’s answer was distracted.
“I’ll go to the drugstore for you.”
“No, I need the air. I’ll go.”
“Is there anything I can do while you’re gone?”
“No! Just stay away from Betty Lou. One person is enough to take care of.” The unexpected sharpness in Nettie’s voice surprised me, but I didn’t let it bother me. She was tired, nervous, and too old to be nursing the sick.
The house was quiet after Nettie left. And it was chilly. Indian summer with its humid heat was suddenly over. I sat down in Nettie’s rocker, arms outstretched and head back. It had been a hectic day. All I could hear was the clock ticking away on top of the piano. Gradually the sound grew fainter and my muscles relaxed.
“Help me!”
I jumped to my feet, not sure whether I’d been dreaming or what.
“Help me!” The cry again. Not a dream. It was dark and for a second I had no idea where I was. I snapped on the table lamp beside the rocker and looked at the clock. Six-thirty. Six-thirty? Where was Nettie? She’d left over two hours ago.
“Please, somebody, help me!” Upstairs. Betty Lou. I dashed up the stairs two at a time and there she lay half out of bed, tossing her head from side to side. “I want to go home,” she moaned. “Please, somebody, get me out of here.”
I pulled the blankets around her. “You’re all right, Betty, but you mustn’t get out of bed.”
“Marta? Is it you?” Betty Lou’s eyes were feverishly bright. She raised herself to a sitting position and her nose began to bleed. With blood streaming from her nose, she cried out, “Get me out of here! I’m being poisoned!”
“You’re all right, honey,” I told her, trying to keep my voice calm. There’s something about a lot of blood that curls my toes. “Lie back and rest. I’m going to call the doctor.”
With shaking legs, I hurried to the telephone. Doctor Carberry, a kind, tired, youngish-old man with black horn-rimmed glasses, was the only doctor in town. I dialed his number, my fingers thick and clumsy. “Doctor Carberry?” I told him who I was and that I thought that even though he’d already sent in a prescription for Betty Lou, I still thought he should come and see her. I went on to explain her latest symptoms, including the obvious delirium, being as specific as I could.
“Betty Lou?” Doctor Carberry said when I finally stopped talking.
“Yes, Betty Lou Sheldon. Nettie Barnard talked to you about her this morning.”
“Why, I haven’t seen or talked with Nettie in more than three weeks and that was about her legs,” Doctor Carberry said. “There’s some mistake here somewhere, but if the girl is as sick as you say, I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes.”
I managed a thank-you and hung up. Nettie hadn’t called Doctor Carberry? But she said she did. She was on her way now to pick up a prescription. What was going on? I dialed the drugstore.
“Nettie Barnard?” the druggist said. “No, Nettie hasn’t been in here tonight, haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks, as a matter of fact.”
“You have a prescription there for Betty Lou Sheldon, don’t you? Nettie was supposed to pick it up.”
“Betty Lou Sheldon. Let me see.” There was a silence. A long one. “No, there’s no prescription here for Betty Lou. Sure you haven’t made a mistake?”
I mumbled something and hung up. No, I hadn’t made a mistake. Nettie had lied to me. But this was crazy. While I waited for Doctor Carberry a million thoughts ran through my mind, all senseless.
The doctor nodded briefly when he came in and I rushed him up the stairs. He looked as if he was going to say something, but I didn’t wait to hear what it was. I had to find Nettie. She’d lied to me. That’s all I could think about. Where could she be? She couldn’t walk far. Bad legs, as Oscar put it. Oscar. Might he have taken her some place? “Yep,” he said, after I got him on the phone. “But seems like where I take my customers is pretty much my own business, ain’t it?” I can still hear him, the funny old guy.
“Oh, Oscar, please,” I begged. I don’t beg often.
“No need to sweat it, Miss Hale. About an hour or so ago I ran her out to Van Buren’s old place, you know, out on the edge of town, the old gray house used to belong to that lumber man.”
I couldn’t believe it and still didn’t when Oscar repeated what he’d said. “Oscar, listen, can you come and pick me up? Right away? I want you to take me out there, too.”
“Sure thing,” he said and was there in just a few minutes.
Before I left I hollered upstairs to Doctor Carberry that I was going out for a few minutes, but he didn’t answer. I don’t think he heard me, but I couldn’t help it. I was in a hurry. Something was the matter, I could feel it in my bones.
Oscar lifted his cap a little when he saw me, but only to scratch his bald head. “Van Buren havin’ a party? I took that silver-haired teacher out there a few minutes before I took Nettie. Some kind of a shindig, is it?”
I clung to the back of the seat to keep from falling flat on my face. Christine was at Roger’s too? What in the world was going on?
“Van Buren never had no party before that I know of. Kind of a peculiar bird, ain’t he?” Oscar glanced at me over his shoulder. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. So we didn’t talk until Oscar braked his cab to a stop at the foot of the hill that led to Roger’s house. “No road up there any more.”
“This is fine,” I breathed.
“Want me to wait? You look kinda nervous. I won’t charge for it.”
“No, I... I guess not, Oscar. And thanks.” The red tail-lights flickered and disappeared and after that I could hardly see my hand in front of me.
A faint yellow light far up the path was the only thing visible. I don’t know why I was scared. True, the house was spooky-looking, but it was Roger’s house. And he wouldn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite! Nettie? She’d lied to me, but there had to be an ordinary explanation. She was so kind, she’d never do anything really wrong. Christine? Well, once she’d been ready to slit my throat, but we were more or less friends now. Who else? Nobody. Then what? Nothing, that’s what. Still I shivered as I groped my way toward the old house, my eyes fixed on the dim light.