Page 27 of Hope’s Enduring Echo
Etta
Etta pressed the unopened envelope to her pounding chest. “Fetch your drawing materials and then run and catch up to Leo and Mr. DeWeece.”
Jennie shook her head, tipping her chin in the stubborn angle she’d learned from her father. “I don’t want to. I want to know what’s in the envelope.”
Etta tried to deliver a carefree laugh, but it emerged more like a strangled cough. “Honey, it’s just information I requested from Dr. Whiteside.”
“What about?”
Heat filled Etta’s frame. She waved the envelope, stirring the air. “Nothing important.”
Her daughter—her helpful, obedient, rarely rebellious daughter—folded her arms. “Then let me see it.”
Etta turned her back on Jennie and hugged the unopened envelope. She didn’t want to divulge the contents until she knew whether the news was good or bad. If it was bad, she wanted time to pray about the best way to share it. Why hadn’t she told Leo to keep the letter from the doctor a secret? But it was too late for that now.
“Mama?”
Jennie’s gentle yet strained voice pierced Etta’s mother-heart. She faced her daughter.
“Please tell me what’s in the envelope. I…” Jennie gulped. “I’m concocting things in my imagination that are probably worse than what’s really there. I need to know the truth so I can set my mind at ease.”
If it turned out to be bad news, neither of their minds would be at ease. Not without God’s mighty peace embracing them. But she couldn’t bear to torment her daughter. “All right,” Etta said on a sigh. She sent up a silent prayer for God to stay close and give her strength as she crossed to the sofa and sat in the middle of it.
Jennie took the spot on Etta’s right and leaned close while Etta loosened the glue holding the flap in place and removed five or six sheets of paper. The top sheet was a typewritten letter. Before reading it, she flipped through the other pages and scanned a few words—information, it seemed, about the facility in Pueblo and the various illnesses treated there. She tamped the papers back into a neat stack and laid them on her lap, the letter beginning “Dear Dr. Whiteside” on the top.
She read silently with the huffs of Jennie’s rapid breathing loud in her ear. As she read, her emotions bounced between heartache and hope. According to the doctor in Pueblo, the behavior described by Dr. Whiteside—by Etta—showed a strong indication for melancholia. Seeing the diagnosis in stark black letters on a white sheet of paper made the illness seem much more dire, much more real. She wasn’t sure she wanted to accept it as truth. Yet at the same time, she experienced a sense of relief that Claude wasn’t choosing to hide away in a state of constant despair—rather, the disease held him captive there. If there was a diagnosis, there must be a cure.
The close of the letter almost stripped the hope from Etta’s heart.
The aforementioned malady is suggested, given by my best knowledge based on secondhand information. For an accurate diagnosis, I must conduct a full psychiatric evaluation at my facility. Please advise the family to bring the patient to Pueblo at their earliest convenience.
It was signed by Dr. Abraham V. Dixon, chief of psychiatry at Colorado State Insane Asylum.
Etta glanced at her daughter. Tears traced a trail from Jennie’s eyes to her quivering chin. Her gaze seemed fixed on the final line. On the name of the facility. The horror reflected in her brown eyes hurt as much as anything Etta had ever seen.
She flipped the pages upside down on the sofa and grabbed Jennie in a hug. Jennie threw her arms around Etta’s neck and clung, her entire frame trembling, but she didn’t make a sound. Etta ached for her daughter, who loved her daddy so much. Ached for Claude, who was possibly lost in his own mind. And ached for herself, because she desperately wanted to fix it all and couldn’t.
Gently rocking Jennie, she closed her eyes and reached out to her heavenly Father for guidance and strength. When she was certain she could speak evenly, she dislodged Jennie’s hold on her neck and caught her daughter’s hands. “I know that was hard for you to read. It was for me, too. But we should be grateful. It will be good to know what ails your daddy, am I right?” She waited for Jennie’s slight nod, then continued. “And this doesn’t change any of our plans for you to go to school this fall.”
Jennie released a disbelieving gasp. “Mama! Of course it does. Daddy will be in the hospital for days, maybe even weeks, before he’s better. You won’t leave him there by himself. You and Daddy…you can’t be apart.”
Etta’s throat ached from holding back a wail of despair. Jennie was right. The thought of being separated from Claude was unbearable. How would she endure its reality?
“If he stays in Pueblo, you’ll stay there, too. That means there won’t be anyone here walking the line.” She sat straight-up, her chin lifting. “If no one’s bringing in money, how will we pay for Daddy’s treatment?” She shook her head hard, her brows forming a determined V. “I need to stay here until Daddy’s well and home again.”
Etta reached for hope. “There’s no sense in changing our plan for you to go to school until—”
“You and I both know this doctor in Pueblo is going to say Daddy is sick.”
Jennie’s interruption was disrespectful, but she spoke with such kindness, so much grace and maturity, that Etta couldn’t be offended. In that moment, Jennie seemed more a friend than her child. Etta sighed and answered the way she would a friend. “You and I also know that convincing him to be evaluated will be the hardest battle I’ve ever waged. He may refuse to go at all. In which case, this entire conversation is a waste of time and worry.”
Jennie’s eyes glistened with compassion. “For all our sakes, he has to go, Mama.”
“Go where?”
Both Jennie and Etta jolted. Etta jerked her attention in the direction of Claude’s growly voice. How long had he been standing in the bedroom doorway, listening to them? She rose and took a step toward him, instinctively shielding Jennie. “Why, Claude, you’re awake. And dressed already.” His shirt was untucked, but it was buttoned to the top, and he’d even donned socks and shoes. Such a change from his usual routine of waiting until after breakfast to change out of his sleep shirt.
He glanced at Jennie’s closed door. “That dog woke me up. Heard him in there whimperin’.”
Jennie scurried to her door and opened it. Rags bounced directly to Claude and rose up, resting his front feet on Claude’s injured leg. Claude gave him a pat on the head, then shifted him to the floor. He aimed a suspicious scowl at Etta. “What—”
“You’re probably wondering what’s for breakfast. I hope you’re good and hungry. I’m fixing pancakes this morning. A whole stack of them. It’ll probably be the last time we have pancakes until next month, because the syrup jug is about empty.” She was prattling, something she never did. But her nerves were so frayed she didn’t feel like herself.
Claude shuffled closer, his frown bouncing from Etta to Jennie to Etta again. “Never mind that. Who were you talkin’ about? Who’s gotta go somewhere?”
Etta delivered a light squeeze to his forearm. “Now, Claude, we can discuss that later. Let’s have our breakfast and then—”
Jennie darted to them. She grabbed Etta’s arm and shook it. “Mama, no. Tell him. He needs to know.”
What had gotten into this child, acting like she was the grown-up in the house? Etta tried to summon indignation, but it refused to rise. And she knew why. Jennie was right. Fear was holding Etta back, and fear had no place in a Christian’s heart. Not when it came to doing the right thing.
She gave Jennie a slight nod and faced Claude. “Sit at the table. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Then I’ll tell you about some information I received from Dr. Whiteside.”
“I’ll get the coffee,” Jennie said, giving her mother a look full of silent encouragement. “You go ahead and talk.”
So Etta talked. Claude cupped the full mug Jennie gave him between both hands, but he didn’t take a sip. His gaze never wavered from Etta’s as she confessed she’d visited Dr. Whiteside and told him the details of Claude’s behavior since the accident. She shared the doctor’s suggestions about getting outside and moving around more and then what the doctor from Pueblo said in his letter. Claude’s eyebrows lifted or descended at various points of her recital, but he didn’t interrupt or show signs of fury.
Heartened by his apparent acceptance, she admitted, “There are several pages of information. I haven’t had a chance to read all of them yet. Maybe we can read them together.” Jennie was sitting next to her. She patted her daughter’s hand. “Honey, would you fetch those papers for us?”
Jennie left the table, and Claude’s hooded gaze followed her to the settee and back. As she laid the stack of papers on the table, he looked at Etta. “Is that why we’ve been doing picnics—because the doc said to get me out of the house?”
She nodded.
“An’ is that how come Prime an’ Delia brought that dog out here?”
A hint of resentment colored his tone and glinted in his eyes. A silent prayer for him to remain calm formed in the back of her mind as she answered. “No, Claude. I didn’t see the doctor until after Delia and Prime brought Rags to us. They did that on their own because they thought we’d enjoy having another pet.” She tipped her head, fixing him with a hopeful half smile. “You like Rags, don’t you? And you’ve enjoyed the picnics—being out in the sunshine. Haven’t you?”
He lifted the mug and took a noisy slurp. “Reckon so.”
She forced her quivering lips into a full smile. “We love you, Claude. Jennie, me, Delia and Prime…we all want you to be better. You want to be better, too. I know you do. So…” She reached across the table and curled her hands around his on the mug. “Will you let me take you to Pueblo? Will you let the doctor there evaluate you?”
He stood, yanking his hands free. Coffee splashed over Etta’s hands and the table. Jennie jumped up and ran to the sink. She grabbed a towel, returned to the table, and mopped up the mess. Claude watched her, his face set in something caught between an angry scowl and a pained grimace. Jennie glanced at Etta. “Did it burn you, Mama?”
The coffee sat so long it was only lukewarm. Etta wiped her hands dry on her apron. “No, honey, I’m fine. Thank you for seeing to the spill.” Claude still hadn’t answered her questions. The storm brewing in his eyes warned her not to ask again, but she needed to know. “Claude? Will you go?”
He jerked his gaze in her direction and stared, the muscles in his whiskered jaw twitching. Time seemed to stand still while she waited for a response. While she waited, she prayed for him to make the right decision. Finally, when she thought she might collapse from the tension, he gave an all-over jolt and opened his mouth.
“I’ll let you know after I’ve read them papers.”
Etta’s heart clawed in desperation for hope’s tattered hem. She forced a calm tone. “Reading the information is a good idea. Why don’t you sit by the lamp and get started while I fix those pancakes I promised?”
Claude glanced at the sheets. Coffee droplets spattered the top page, but the writing wasn’t smeared. He scowled at it, though, as if he couldn’t make sense of it. He slowly backed away from the table. “I don’t much feel like reading. Or eating.” He patted his leg, and Rags scrambled to his side. Claude limped slowly toward the door with the dog staying close. “I think…me an’ Rags’ll…” And he went outside.
Jennie stood beside the table, twisting the stained, soggy towel in her hand and staring tight-lipped at the open doorway. Suddenly she marched to the dry sink, tossed the towel into the basin, and headed for the door.
Etta started after her. “Jennie?”
Jennie stopped.
Etta did, too. She spoke to her daughter’s tense back. “Where are you going?”
“To talk to Daddy.”
Etta’s stomach rolled. Should she forbid her? Jennie was growing up. She’d been right about Etta needing to be honest with Claude. Maybe, given the close relationship she’d shared with her daddy, she could talk some sense into him when Etta couldn’t. Lord, will it make things better or worse? The short prayer brought to mind her wedding vows. Whatever happened with Claude, she would stay by his side. At this point, could anything Jennie said or did make things worse than they already were?
Etta pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “All right.”
Jennie walked out the door.