Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [98]
“But . . .”
“But what, Roz?”
That’s a lie! I wanted to say. Daddy’s not in California. He’s here. I’ve seen him!
I shook off the urge to tell. I looked at Mom, and with heart thumping, I asked, “Can I have a stamp?”
“Sure. Are you going to write to Wally?”
“Not tonight. I think I’ll write to Uncle Joe.”
“Uncle Joe?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, since you mentioned him I realize I haven’t written him since we got here.”
Mom found her smile again. “Well, that’d be nice. I’m sure he and Aunt Linda would appreciate hearing from you.”
Why hadn’t I thought of Uncle Joe before? I’d write and tell him everything that had happened since we got there. How Daddy had followed us down and how he was calling himself Nelson Knutson and how he wanted to be with Mom and me and Valerie again. Uncle Joe would know what to do. After all, he was Daddy’s brother. If he thought I should tell Mom that Daddy was in Mills River, then I’d do it.
When Mom left to get the stamp, I found some paper and started writing.
chapter
42
Some days later, at five o’clock in the morning, I was startled out of sleep by the ringing of the telephone and by Tillie’s cry of “Merciful heavens!” that followed soon after. Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed to the door of my room and stood there listening as Tillie talked into the extension in the hall. Mom appeared in her doorway too, hugging herself against both the cold in the house and the fear brought on by an early morning phone call from who knew where.
Tillie’s face was pale and her hair, let loose from its bun, hung in wispy gray waves all the way down to the shoulders of her white cotton gown. In her rush she hadn’t bothered to throw on her robe, though she’d wiggled her feet into the blue fuzzy slippers that always waited for her beside the bed.
Mom and I exchanged worried glances as she talked, unable to pick up any clues about to whom she was talking and what they were talking about. She didn’t say much other than “Uh-huh” and “All right,” until finally she said, “Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can,” and hung up.
She looked at Mom and then at me to make sure she had our attention. We were way beyond giving her our attention and aching to know what was happening.
“That was a nurse down at Riverside Hospital,” Tillie said. “They’re just about to wheel Lyle into surgery. His appendix is inflamed and about ready to burst.”
I heard Mom gasp. “Oh, Tillie,” she whispered, lifting a hand to her mouth. To my surprise, her eyes glazed over with tears, as though one of her own children were about to go under the knife. She hadn’t cried when I had my tonsils out, though, so I was annoyed to think she’d get teary-eyed over a man we hardly knew. “I wish I could go to the hospital with you,” Mom said.
“You can come tonight, after it’s over.”
“Is he going to be all right?” I asked.
From the look on Tillie’s face, I knew it was the wrong question to ask. After a moment she let out the breath she’d been holding and said, “He will be if we pray for him, Roz. Anyone care to join me?”
Tillie moved toward her room, and Mom and I followed. Reaching her bed, Tillie eased herself down to her knees and folded her thick hands on top of the quilt. Mom kneeled beside her. Not wanting to be left out, I joined them at the foot of the bed.
Tillie closed her eyes but kept her face turned toward the ceiling. Speaking loudly, she said, “Heavenly Father, I need to talk to you about Lyle and what’s about to happen down there at the hospital. Now, you know, Lord, that I’m old and ready to die. Soon as you call, I’m coming on up, and I’ll be glad to finally get there and see the face of my Savior Jesus, and Ross too, in that order.”
Mom and I both opened one eye and peeked at each other.
“But Lyle – now, he’s got a whole boatload of good years left, and if you don’t mind my saying so, it’d be a shame if you didn’t leave him here for now and let him finish up his work. So if you’re dead set on taking someone home today, Lord, I pray it’s me and not Lyle. I’m asking you, Father, to let my son live.