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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781770906051 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | ECW Press |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 96 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Phoebe's Way
A Heartwarming Tale of One Dog's Gift
By Pamela Ditchoff
ECW PRESS
Copyright © 2014 Pamela DitchoffAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-77090-605-1
CHAPTER 1
MERSEY HOUSE
SAFE HARBOUR, NOVA SCOTIA
THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE
JANUARY
We move as one, Myother and me, twelve steps from car to door, cross the threshold with four steps more, right to the west wing, left to the east. Today we turn right.
Myother stops at the first door and raps the wood.
Rose shouts, "Come on in, Phoebe. I got a treat for you."
Myother opens the door and we step inside. This room has the cleanest air in the House. Snow covers the ground outside but this room is green. Rose has green growing on shelves, on the floor, and on the windowsill. It is a garden.
I smell the cookie warm in her hand where it rests on the wheel of her chair. I strain at the leash and Myother walks me to Rose.
"That's a sugar cookie," Pansy says hard. "Show it to me."
Rose waves it under my nose and I take the cookie gentle quick, savouring the crunch.
Pansy rises from her bed, hands on her hips making wings of her arms. Her white hair is pulled into a ball at the back of her head. Her eyes are sharp and her bones protrude. She is a seagull with her eye on a prize.
"I have to watch over her," she says. "Where's the package, Rose?"
Pansy opens the cabinet doors and holds the package high like a fresh kill. "I'm doing this for your own good. I need to protect you from yourself. How did you get these?" She steps close, hovering over me.
Rose raises her shoulders. "You were sleeping when my great grandson visited," she says with a giggle.
"It's not funny," Pansy says. "These could kill you."
I sniff Pansy and she does not smell of anger. Only fear, the same scent she has worn since she came here months ago.
Pansy grasps the handles of her walker and leaves the room. Pain radiates red from her hip. Rose reaches to Myother's hand and pats it.
"The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak," she says. She cups my face, scratches my ears. "Your muzzle is as white as my hair, Phoebe. You were black as coal when I met you. I think we both look prettier now. We shine with silver, eh girl? Now, sit down Mary, tell me about your week."
Rose has been here seven years. She is missing the bottom half of one leg. Her skin is flushed and her stump is dark pink. She wears short pants even in winter. She has good layers of fat. I rest my chin on her stump as they talk. I count again the eight rings lodged in her bones, one for each child she bore.
Rose gives me comfort; her memories hold no dark secrets, no shame or regret, not a sniff of sorrow. Her hands buzz with memories like music, like bees around a hive: the lines of her husband's back on their bed; a cast-iron pump handle moving up and down; wood for the stove; a sliver buried deep; her hands burrowing in the earth, planting seeds, gathering vegetables; brooms, mops, wet baskets full of clothing, clothing pinned on lines. And the babies, the scent of all eight still held beneath her skin, cloths and pins, braiding hair, caressing cheeks, hands folding over sick beds. Sometimes she overwhelms me.
I stand erect. Pansy has returned.
"I gave the cookies to Nurse Barbara," she says.
Pansy has no greenery, no children, nothing on her wall. Her only possession is a soft black book edged with gold. She does not pet me. She does not dislike me. I fear her touch.
She moves the walker forward and catches her foot on a bed leg. She howls in pain. As Pansy begins to fall, her left hand slides across the sill, knocking greenery to the floor where pots crash, spilling their loamy scent.
I skitter backward and make myself small. Myother is on her feet. Rose's wheelchair sits between Myother and Pansy.
Rose's arms open wide. Just before Pansy's head lands in Rose's lap, she raises her stump, and at the moment of contact, she holds Pansy in a soft, threefold embrace. Pansy weeps.
Nurse Barbara comes in fast, Joe behind her. Joe is an aide; he is tall and strong, and whenever he greets me, he uses both hands. Joe slides his arms beneath Pansy, lifts her, and lays her on the bed. She howls again.
Nurse Barbara moves her hands along Pansy's leg. She asks Myother what happened. Myother tells her Pansy caught her foot on the bed. That she fell into Rose's lap and Rose held her.
Nurse is not old, not young either. She holds more muscle than fat. Her fingers squeeze up and down Pansy's limbs. She asks where it hurts. Pansy moans, her eyes shut tight.
"The hip?"
Pansy nods.
"She should have had a hip replacement years ago. Not even a doctor listed in her records. How many years did you walk around in pain, Pansy? Must have been like wearing a hair shirt. Such a cross to bear."
"Leave me be, I'm fine," Pansy hisses through clenched teeth. Tears run toward her ears.
Nurse wraps a black cloth around Pansy's arm and squeezes a ball. "Pressure is high," she says to Joe.
Joe says he'll get something to clean up the spilled dirt.
"Stop at the station and tell them I need a pain-meds juice for Pansy," Nurse says. "And double check for me when she had her last pain pill." She turns her face to Rose. "You're a pip, Rose. I believe you saved Pansy from a broken bone or two with your fair catch. Are you okay?"
"Yes, darling, I'm fine."
I weave my way back to Rose. Her stump is wet with Pansy's tears and I lick them. My mouth burns as if filled with red ants. I whine and paw my mouth. Myother kneels beside me.
I dive for the dirt and gulp the soothing moist black.
Joe returns and hands a glass to Nurse Barbara. He sweeps up the dirt with a broom and dustpan.
"Drink this and you'll feel better in a snap," she says, holding the glass before Pansy's face. Pansy looks at the glass. She curls up on her side, covers her face, and weeps.
"Honey, if you can't drink this I'll need to get a needle and ..." Nurse trails off, not saying the words on her lips. You're so thin I can barely pinch skin. "Can you drink this — should I get a needle?"
She can't smell the terror that has closed Pansy's throat. I push my body between Nurse and Pansy and rest my head in Pansy's open hand. She uncovers her face and turns to look at me. I fix my eyes onto hers. She places her other hand on top of my head and I stand very still.
"I can't bear the sight of orange juice." Pansy breathes in deep once. Her hands crackle around my head like ice in a glass and I see that she is seeing a young nurse. She kneels in a chapel holding her black book with gold pages. Her eyes are turned upward to a stone woman draped in a stone robe holding a stone baby in her arms.
"It was an accident, but I killed her all the same. I killed that woman."
Nurse stands straight. "Now, dear, you're out of your mind with pain," she says and tries to move me away from the bed. Pansy presses her hands tighter around my head and my hackles rise. I hear Myother's heartbeat quicken.
"Leave the dog alone," Pansy cries. "Leave her." Pansy loosens her grip and strokes my head.
"I was a young nurse in 1952 working at a hospital in Newfoundland. I was born on the Rock. Went to nursing school in Quebec and returned home with the hubris of youth." She gasps with a stab of pain. She presses her lips together until they turn white.
"One night I was dispensing medications in ward three. There was a cancer patient, final stage. Her medication was morphine mixed in orange juice. Her roommate had hemorrhoid surgery, and she was constipated, so the pharmacy had put a laxative in her juice. I mixed up the cups. She died of a drug overdose." Pansy raises her eyes to the ceiling and cries.
"My soul overflows with such sorrow I wish I could die."
A rush of grey, like a fogbank on the ocean, streams through Pansy's fingertips damp and cold onto my head. I back away and shake my skin, throwing off the fog as horses throw off black flies. It creeps across the floor and rises to the outstretched arms of Rose's greenery.
It is quiet in the room. Rose, Nurse, and Myother quiet as if in sleep. Pansy says, "Oh my soul, if it's impossible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
Her hands do not tremble when she takes the cup from Nurse and drinks until it is empty.
CHAPTER 2BETRAYED BY A KISS
FEBRUARY
We move as one, Myother and me, twelve steps from car to door, cross the threshold with four steps more, right to the west wing, left to the east. Today we turn right.
Archie's door stands open. He does not share the room, but it is full of woman scent, scents belonging to others who live here. Archie sits in a big soft chair, paper in front of his face. His radio plays twangy music.
"Any good news today?" Myother asks, touching Archie's shoulder.
Women want to touch Archie because he touches them, and because he smells of yeast, and because his eyes are like two bowls of honey.
Archie shakes his head, covers Myother's hand with his own, and I rush between his knees.
"The only good news is that you and Phoebe are here. Have you seen Julia this morning?"
Myother says she has not seen Julia. She sits on the bed and says there is good news. "Shubenacadie Sam saw his shadow yesterday morning. Tell me, Archie, do you think a groundhog can predict the weather?"
I whine and wiggle between his knees, anxious for his touch. Archie knows how to please me. He scratches places I can't reach, like at the top of my tail, and he rubs my ears until I groan, until drool pools in the corners of my mouth.
"Yesterday was Candlemas," Archie says. He tells Myother that Sam was not around when he was a boy. "My grandmother taught me this verse:
If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Winter has another flight.
If Candlemas brings cloud and rain,
Winter will not come again."
Archie reaches for a plate on the bureau. "Will you have a jam tart? I can't eat all these treats. You know I surely had my fill running the bakery for fifty years."
There are plates of treats in Archie's room. Women bring them to be close to him, feel his touch, hear his voice, and look in his honey eyes. Archie makes women aware of being female.
Myother says no thank you, and he asks again if she has seen Julia.
I know Archie was well loved and well touched, seven sisters' imprints alive still in his skin, and his wife who touched him less. I see his hands moving and full, his wrists strong from pushing and pulling dough, loading racks into ovens, cradling and guiding four children.
"Are you concerned about Julia?" Myother asks and I give one sharp bark. Archie puts his hands on my ribs and rubs me down.
Julia has been here a short time and lives on the other side with the others who have jelly strands growing in their heads. Archie has held her in his heart a long time. The picture he rubs into my coat is of a young Julia walking through the bakery door. Sunlight shines from behind, making a halo of her dark curls, outlining her curves.
Archie says, "Yes, I am."
Coral steps into the room. "How are you today, Archie?" She holds a loaf of warm and fragrant bread. "My daughter just brought this, and I thought of you, dear. Are you bruised, are you sore?"
Coral scowls at me, she wants to get close to Archie. She smells of lily flower. Myother says, "Hello Coral," but Coral does not answer.
"I'll bet your shoulder is bruised. Have you looked? Should I have a look?" Her hands reach out and Archie stops caressing me. His hands fly up, palms turned out.
Coral knows everything that happens here and she tells everyone. Coral has too much energy for the House.
"Thank you for the bread. Would you set it on the bureau with the rest?" Archie says. He returns his hands to my ears. Coral frowns at the sight of the other women's offerings. She puts the bread down and faces Myother.
"Julia's son struck Archie a few days ago. Why, you could hear him shouting all through the building. Such a fuss over an innocent kiss."
Archie is thinking of Julia's face, her cloudy eyes clearing and filling with desire, her arms wrapping around Archie's back, and her mouth pressing to his. Blood rushes to Archie's fingertips, and he keeps rubbing my ears.
"And I know it was innocent, eh Archie? He's been a good friend, visiting her room every day, and believe me, she doesn't have friends. Poor thing, all she says is 'No, no, no.' Why, Archie was friends with Julia's husband."
Coral waves her hand and sits on the bed. She leans toward Myother and says Julia's husband died years ago, fell overboard while lobstering.
"That boy was still in diapers, and Julia went to work at Best Yeast Company. You wouldn't remember the plant, Mary, closed in '55. My husband worked across the yard at the paper mill."
Archie's fingers reach into the hollow where my leg meets my chest, and I lean into them, ears long with contentment.
He is seeing Julia. He is walking tall and young through a building. He holds a large cloth bag in his arms when he stops to watch Julia working. There is sweat on her face and damp between her breasts. He is thinking he should have waited longer to marry, that he should have borne the loneliness.
"Archie gave Julia's boy free cookies and imagine him now, a grown-up man calling Archie an old pervert. Knocked Archie to the floor before Joe came in and stopped him from doing any more damage. Yelled all the way to the director's office about the old pervert taking advantage of his demented mother."
Nurse Barbara pops her head inside the room and says Coral is late for physical therapy. Coral rises from the bed and walks toward the door. She stops behind Archie's chair and leans forward. Her lips are pooched in a kiss she plans to plant on Archie's cheek. But she pauses at the sound of Julia's "No, no, no ..." nearby.
Archie hurries to his feet, and I scramble close to Myother. Coral steps into the hallway, and Archie takes up his cane. I follow him, tugging Myother along.
Nurse Barbara holds Coral's arm, leading her away. Julia sees only Archie, her arms and mouth open, coming toward us in sliding steps. Joe is running behind her. Archie covers his mouth with his hand as Joe catches her.
Julia shouts, "No, no, no." Her eyes are full of fear — they are always full of fear. Before Joe lifts her and carries her away down the hall, Archie's hand throws a kiss.
Myother touches Archie's shoulder and says she will see him next week. Archie nods, rests his hand on my head, but he is not listening. He is walking down the darkened hallway, as he did the night before. The hallway is empty, as it was the night before. He takes a key from the nurse's station, as he did the night before. He reaches Julia's door and turns the key into the lock. Julia sits on the bed, all skin and arms reaching for him. He wraps her in a blanket. He feels the release of wildness as he holds her to his chest, to the heart he carried here in his hands.
CHAPTER 3CONDEMNED
MARCH
We move as one, Myother and me, twelve steps from car to door, cross the threshold with four steps more, right to the west wing, left to the east. Today we turn left.
The east wing doesn't change even though the faces do. I enter here like I enter the bogwoods behind the house, where trees are tight together and the ground is sponge wet. Roots stretch out at every turn covered in slippery green. Round masses of purple and pink and yellow cling to rocks and crevices. I hear a stream flowing beneath the ground but I never see it.
I am quiet and careful in both places. On the west side they smile when I yodel and bark. Some yodel and bark back at me. On the east side my bark strikes like a knife in their ears and jerks their bodies.
Nurse Donna works on this side. She has not been here long. She is not yet easy with me or with the people who live here. Nurse Donna waves as we pass her station.
The first room has new faces. A woman stands beside a man who is sitting and staring out the window. She is asking him the name of the birds, and he doesn't answer. She turns to us and gasps, reaching out as if she were drowning.
"Daddy, a dog! Look, a dog has come to visit!" she says too loud, and the man jerks in his chair. She squats and clings to me and her desperation makes me shiver. Her knees pop. They are not strong and she has little muscle. Her exhaustion smells of the east wing.
Myother tells her our names and that we visit every Saturday. The woman says her name is Sarah and her father is Walter. I don't know which of the two belongs here.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Phoebe's Way by Pamela Ditchoff. Copyright © 2014 Pamela Ditchoff. Excerpted by permission of ECW PRESS.
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