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Momma's teeth chattered, and she turned her eyes to me and forced a smile.
"It's . . . just . . . a cold," she claimed.
"No, it's not, Momma. Whatever's been eating at you is getting worse."
"I'll be all right!" she cried.
"You will if you go to a doctor, Momma."
"Dawn's right, Sally Jean. We can't let this go on anymore. We're going to wrap you up real good and take you over to that hospital so they can look at you and give you some medicine fast," he said.
"Nooo!" Momma cried. I tried to comfort her while Daddy gathered her warmest clothing. Then I helped him dress her. When I looked at Momma without her clothes, I was shocked at how thin she had gotten. Her ribs poked so hard against her skin, and all her bones looked like they were going to pop out. There were fever blotches all over her, too. I kept myself from crying and worked at getting her ready. When it came time to take her out, we discovered she couldn't walk on her own. Her legs ached too much.
"I'll carry her," Daddy said, barely holding back his own tears. I hurriedly dressed Fern. Momma didn't want us to, but we were all going to go along. Neither Jimmy nor I wanted to remain home and wait.
When we arrived I went in first and told the emergency room nurse about Momma. She had an attendant roll out a wheelchair, and we got Momma into it quickly. The hospital security guard helped get Momma in. He looked at Daddy oddly, like someone trying to remember someone he had known years ago. Daddy didn't notice anything but Mamma.
While we waited, Jimmy went to the gift store and brought back a lollypop for Fern. It kept her occupied, but it also smeared her face green. She had a baby's gibberish now, mixed with a real word or two, and often looked at other people waiting in the lobby and started blubbering at them. Some smiled; some were so worried about their loved ones, they could only stare blankly.
Finally, well over an hour later, a doctor sought us out. He had red hair and freckles and looked so young, I thought he couldn't bring anyone bad news. But I was wrong.
"How long has your wife had this cough and run fevers, Mr. Longchamp?" he asked Daddy.
"A while, on and off. She seemed to be getting better, so we didn't think much of it."
"She has consumption and very bad, too. Her lungs are so congested, it's amazing she can breathe," he said, not hiding his annoyance at Daddy.
But it wasn't Daddy's fault. Momma was the stubborn one, I wanted to shout. Daddy looked over-whelmed. He lowered his head and nodded. When I gazed at Jimmy, I saw him standing stiffly, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with anger and sorrow.
"I've rushed her into intensive care," the doctor continued, "and put her on oxygen. She looks like she's lost a great deal of weight," he added and shook his head.
"Can we see her?" I asked, tears streaming down my face.
"Just for five minutes," he said. "And I mean five minutes."
How could a man so young be so firm? I wondered. However, it made me feel he was a good doctor.
Silently, with only little Fern repeating "lolly, lolly," and reaching for the rest of her lollypop, we walked to the elevator. Fern was intrigued with it as Jimmy pushed two and it lifted us up. Her eyes went from side to side. I pressed her closely to me and kissed her soft pink cheek.
We followed the sign that directed us to the intensive care unit. When we opened the door, the head nurse came around her desk quickly to greet us.
"You can't bring a baby in here," she declared.
"I'll wait out here, Daddy," I said. "You and Jimmy go in first."
"I'll come out after a minute or two," Jimmy promised. I saw how much he wanted and needed to see Momma. There was a small couch and a chair in a special waiting room outside of intensive care. I took Fern in there and let her crawl around on the couch while we waited. Just about two minutes later Jimmy appeared. His eyes were red.
"Go on," he said quickly. "She wants to see you."
I handed Fern to him and hurried into the room. Momma was lying in the last bed on the right. She was in an oxygen tent. Daddy stood at the right of the bed holding her hand, When I came up beside her, Momma smiled and reached out to take my hand, too.
"I'll be all right, honey," she said. "You just do a wonderful singing job tonight."
"Oh, Momma, how can I sing with you lying here in the hospital?" I cried.
"You sure better," she said. "You know how proud me and your daddy are, and it's gonna make me a whole lot better knowing my little girl's singing for all those fancy people. Promise me you'll do it, Dawn, and not let my getting sick stop you. Promise."
"I promise, Momma."
