Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 23: House Call

Chapter 23: House Call

Rowdy Riley sat on the porch step watching a couple goats feast on the ample supply of kudzu surrounding the little shack on the mountain. He had never been to this home before and if asked to find it again, he couldn't even if his life depended on it. Behind him, slumped over in his rocking chair, was the dead man, who for some reason had a flour sack tied around his head and smelled strongly of peppermint. Inside, Rowdy's uncle was telling the woman she was now a widow. He would tell her that there was nothing anyone could have done to change the outcome, that he was sure her husband went quickly, and that he was very sorry for her loss. He would offer to pray with her, and she may or may not oblige. It was one thing to let a very Irish doctor tend to the needs of the mortal body, but another thing entirely to allow a papist to minister to the immortal soul.

Rowdy had known when his uncle said his assistance may be required that it wasn't good. He rarely got to make house calls with Uncle Frank and when he did, it was generally for things that would involve muscle- like moving a body. There was no telling how long it had taken the woman to get to the nearest neighbor who had a phone, on top of the time it had taken them to get there. The dead man never had a chance.

Inside, the woman began wailing. Once in a while, the voice of the neighbor lady whose phone had been used, and of Uncle Frank, could be heard attempting to console her. If not for the grieving loved ones, Rowdy wouldn't have minded house calls like this. In fact, he may well have preferred them. Going into a house where someone was very sick or badly injured was scary. Their efforts may help the patient, but they may unwittingly harm them. Either way, if the outcome was bad he would be left feeling both guilt and helplessness, and in the heat of the moment, the family might actually hold Uncle Frank responsible. Eventually they would realize the good doctor had done all he could in his power to save their loved one, but those moments before that realization were miserable.

Dead folks were easy. What's done was done and it could in no way be the fault of the physician. There was no fear that failing to take some measure would result in a life lost, and that was nice.

After a while, the screen door creaked open. "Joseph, help me move Mr. Brewer inside," said Uncle Frank. Rowdy did as he was told, helping his uncle move the body inside and placing it on the kitchen table. He waited quietly, eyes downcast in the only way he knew to express sympathy for people he didn't know, while his uncle spoke a few more words to the two women. When he finally told him it was time to go, Rowdy donned the somber face he had perfected over the years and nodded to the women as he followed Uncle Frank out the door.

As the car struggled to make it up steep hills and over trails not really intended for use by automobiles Rowdy observed, "An undertaker sure could make a good business for himself around here."

"That he could," agreed Uncle Frank. There was an undertaker on across the mountain, but out here and in Mabry's Ridge, most families took care of the preparation of the body and the burial themselves.

Making conversation with the Priest was just as difficult for Rowdy as it was for anyone else, and he usually spent much of his car rides with him quietly staring out the window. This day, though, he couldn't help but be curious about the peculiar head adornment and smell coming from the recently deceased. "Hey Uncle Frank?" he asked as the car pulled out onto the main road across the mountain.

"Yes?"

"How come you reckon that man had a flour sack tied around his head? And why did he smell like a mint?"

The Priest looked over at his nephew with a very disappointed look on his face. "How come I reckon?"

"Why do you think?" Rowdy corrected himself.

"It's some of that folk medicine these people still turn to in times of desperation. The wife said he'd recently been to see the medicine woman about headaches he'd been having. I imagine the flour sack and peppermint were some of her prescriptions."

"The same medicine woman that people in town used to see?"

"I doubt it, but I've no way of knowing."

Talk of the old medicine woman reminded him of his friend who was named after said healer. He had just asked how her mother was doing when Uncle Frank had whisked him away to go gawk at the dead man. She had said she was alright, she guessed, but he wasn't sure what that meant. He didn't have a good feeling about it.

He knew what his uncle's answer would be before he even asked, but he figured it was worth a try anyway. "Uncle Frank?"

"Yes?"

"My friend Ginny's mother...is she gonna be alright?"

The Priest didn't look away from the road, nor did he answer.

"Uncle Frank?"

"I don't discuss my patients, Joseph. You know that."

"You discussed the dead man with me."

"Mr. Brewer is deceased, and you were there to help me tend to him. That is a different matter entirely."

He had practically back-talked his uncle and had not been back-handed nor was he currently grounded. Despite genuinely wanting to know the status of his friend's mother's health, Rowdy knew he had best quit while he was ahead. He stared out the window the rest of the drive home.

*****

The best thing about Ralph being out of the house had always been the opportunity his absence gave Ginny to sleep with Mama in her big, comfy bed. There was something almost magical about that bed. It wasn't in the way she sank into it like a fluffy cloud, nor in the smell of her mother's perfume that surrounded her while she lay in it. What was magical was the way she drifted off to sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Every time. She had slept in other beds besides her own, and none of them were like it. And the sleep she slept in Mama's bed was unlike any other, never plagued by any of her weird dreams.

Lately, though, she would be awoken in the night by Mama's coughing spells. Oftentimes Mama would get out of bed and go to the kitchen during the night, so as not to wake anyone else. This was such a night. Mama lay in bed coughing for a few minutes before getting up and leaving the room. Ginny usually drifted right back off to sleep when this happened, but for whatever reason, this night she couldn't. She tossed and turned but sleep just wouldn't come.

Mama's Bible lay on the bedside table. There was nothing like reading the big flowery King James language to make one doze off; she knew that from experience. She scooted herself over to Mama's side of the bed, lit the lamp, and picked up the Bible. Reaching behind her to fluff up Mama's pillow, her hand felt something wet. Ginny was breathless when she saw the flecks of bright red blood peppering Mama's pillow case.

She turned the pillow over, put the Bible back on the bedside table, blew out the lamp, and tried to pretend she hadn't seen what she had seen.