Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [14]
In spite of the fever, a small chill ran up my spine. Visions of castor oil and mustard packs flashed through my head.
Tillie tapped my shoulder with one finger. “I never put much stock in castor oil,” she said.
“How did you know?” I whispered.
“We’ll start with a cayenne and vinegar gargle and go from there.”
“But I hate vinegar!”
I was talking to her back. She was headed for the door, already on her way to mix up the vile concoction.
I grabbed Mom’s hand. “Don’t go to work, Mom. Please don’t leave me alone with her.” I nodded toward the door through which Tillie had just disappeared.
Mom smiled. “You’ll be fine, honey. Anyway, if I don’t work, I don’t get paid, and we need the money.”
“But, Mom! I don’t want Tillie taking care of me. She’s so . . . well, you know. She’s strange.”
Mom looked thoughtful for a moment. “I know she seems a little eccentric at times, but really, what would I do without her? I’m beginning to think of her as a godsend.”
“I don’t want to gargle any cayenne and vinegar. Mom, please stay home. She’s going to kill me with her poisons.”
Mom laughed. “Oh, Roz, don’t worry. A little vinegar isn’t going to hurt you. And it will probably help. On my way home from work I’ll stop by the drugstore and pick up some throat lozenges.”
I pulled my hand away from Mom’s and slid down under the covers. “You don’t love me, do you?” I moaned.
Mom leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I love you very much, Roz. That’s why I’m working and trying to provide for you.” She straightened up. “Now, it’s getting late, and I’ve got to go. You behave for Tillie, all right?”
As she left the room, I muttered, “Yeah, well, Tillie better behave for me.”
When Tillie returned a few minutes later, she first tied one of Mom’s silk scarves around my neck. “To keep the draughts off,” she said. Then she marched me into the bathroom and handed me the cup of hot water laced with vinegar and cayenne pepper.
“I’ll throw up,” I threatened.
“Nonsense,” she said. “Now gargle.”
I glared at her before resigning myself and giving in. Holding my nose, I took a mouthful and gargled loudly. After spitting it out in the sink, I looked at Tillie and grimaced.
“See,” she said a bit smugly, “you’re still alive and in one piece. So keep going.”
When the gargling was done, she tucked me back in to bed and spent the rest of the morning hovering over me like a mother hen. She fed me bowls of hot chicken broth and cold strawberry Jell-O and vanilla ice cream. From time to time she laid her heavy hand across my brow or poked the thermometer under my tongue to see whether the fever had broken. In between waiting on me, she fed and bathed Valerie and entertained her by making rag dolls out of dish towels.
In the early afternoon she came back to my room and announced, “There’s nothing like warm sunshine to burn the cold germs out of a person.” She told me to grab my pillow and follow her out to the porch. I was to lie on the porch swing while she and Valerie sat together on the folding chair.
“At least let me get dressed,” I muttered as I tumbled out of bed.
“Don’t bother. No one will see you.”
“But – ”
“Come on, Roz, while the sun’s at her peak. Don’t dillydally.”
I snatched my pillow and reluctantly followed Tillie downstairs, wishing Wally were home to throw himself between me and this tyrant. How could she make me sit on the front porch in my baby doll pajamas, a silk kerchief tied around my neck like I was some sort of vaudeville dancer? As we passed by the living room, I grabbed a blanket from the couch to use both as a cushion and a cover to hide under.
I spread the blanket over the slats of the porch swing and settled myself on it, my head on the pillow, my knees drawn up to my chest so I fit on the two-seater bench. The sun was hot, but I used a corner of the blanket to cover myself anyway, just in case. Tillie was right, though; the lilac bushes blocked my view of the street and hid me from any passersby on the sidewalk.
Tillie sat on the folding chair and pulled Valerie into her lap. Valerie