Miss Julia Delivers the Goods by Ann B. Ross Read Free Book Online Page B

Wiggins called, very distressed, offering whatever help we needed. “I just love Hazel Marie,” she said. “I’ll drop everything and do private duty on her. Or take care of her when she comes home. Whatever she needs.”
    And of course, Emma Sue Ledbetter called to say that she was holding Hazel Marie up in her prayers.
    “Well,” I told her, “hold up the rest of us while you’re at it.” Then, as much as I hated to start something I couldn’t stop, I asked her to activate the prayer chain. There was no telling what the talk would be by the time everybody passed the word along the telephone lines, but we needed all the help we could get.
    “Lillian,” I said, hanging up the phone again, “people are kind but, I declare, it gets to be too much sometimes.”
    “Yessum, they start bringin’ covered dishes pretty soon you don’t watch out.”
    I shuddered, thinking of the last time the town turned out with covered dishes. It was for a funeral that, thank goodness, never occurred since Horace Allen turned up alive and well, but the thought of the same outpouring for Hazel Marie made me want to weep.
    I took my time that morning before going to the hospital. Having missed Dr. McKay on several occasions when I’d tried to time my visits to his, I’d just about given up on catching him on his rounds. So I ended up stepping out of the elevator in midmorning, only to run right into him as he was leaving.
    “Why, Dr. McKay,” I said, delighted to catch him unawares, “how nice to see you. And how is our patient this morning?”
    “Doing well,” he said with the beginnings of a smile. “Her fever’s down this morning, and she’s been able to take a little dry toast and liquids by mouth. So if all goes well, she’ll soon be on a normal diet. When she gets home, I want her to take it easy for another week. Give her several small meals a day instead of three big ones, and make sure she gets plenty of rest. Let’s give it one more day here to be sure the vomiting has stopped and she’s fully rehydrated. You can take her home tomorrow.”
    “Well, that is good news and a great relief to me. But we certainly don’t want it to happen again. So what’s your diagnosis? Or do you have one? Or can you even tell me?”
    “Oh, I have one, all right,” he said, this time with a broad satisfied smile on his face. “Actually, and I don’t mind admitting it, one of the nurses put me on the right track. The only thing wrong with Hazel Marie is a touch of hyperemesis gravidarum .”
    My hand flew to my throat and I rocked back on my heels. “Oh, my,” I gasped, “that sounds . . . grave.”
    “Not at all,” he said, turning toward the stairs. “It’s under control now and her condition is completely curable.” He glanced at his watch and moved off. “In time, that is. I’ll let her tell you about it.”
    As he left, I had to put my hand against the wall to steady myself. He was certainly treating Hazel Marie’s condition lightly enough—even cavalierly—but I knew that anytime an illness had a Latin name, it had to be serious. So I stumbled down the hall, tapped on Hazel Marie’s door and peeked in, prepared to offer succor and comfort and a consultation with another doctor.
    “Hazel Marie?” I whispered, easing into the room.
    She took one look at me, then grabbed the sheet and flipped it over her head. Turning toward the wall, she pled, “Don’t look, Miss Julia! Please don’t look at me. I can’t stand it.”
    “Why, Hazel Marie,” I said, hurrying to the bed. “What is wrong with you? Listen, it can’t be that bad. I just saw Dr. McKay out in the hall and he said you’ll soon be well and eating as normal as anybody. That’s good news. You have to be happy about that.”
    “I’m not happy about anything,” she mumbled, huddling under the sheet, her feet drawn up and her whole body curled away from me. “I’m so sorry, Miss Julia. Just so sorry, and I’ll leave just as soon as I