For the Sonorous

We’d watched that cabin for weeks, anxious for them to leave. Most of that time Baby Alice and I slept in our car. Somehow we felt like the cabin should really belong to us. It wasn’t fair that some people had all the luck, some had weekends when they did nothing but barbecue and bed down while Alice and I never had weekends. We had what we had which wasn’t much, this old car, a sleeping bag, a diaper bag, some formula for Alice that I mixed with water at the public restroom, a few food stamps and some warm clothes should we still be out here when snow fell. It came early last winter. Alice and I took refuge with the ski patrol.                                                                                                                                              

The patrol had a hut at the bottom of the slope. Our staying there wasn’t legal. They could have gotten into tons of trouble, but who could resist Baby Alice. They let us hunker down at night while we hung out in the heated restrooms during the day chatting with the skiers while they played with Alice.

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“Oh yes, she’s going to be a champ someday,” I’d say. “She’ll start ski school in a couple of years and then watch out when she boogies down that hill.”  They’d laugh then like this was a real possibility. But I knew better. The way our life was going if Alice lived long enough to go to ski school I’d be grateful. She’d developed this little cough recently that worried me. It came on mostly at night. I feared it might develop into bronchitis. A doctor was something we couldn’t afford and I wasn’t going to ask any ski bum for a handout.  

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Well spring finally came, the snow melted and the skunk cabbage shot up in the meadows. California poppies everywhere, wild iris and sweet rose. The ski season was over so that was the end of our days in the restroom and nights in the hut. It was back to the car evenings piling on winter clothes as soon as the sun went down. Even though it was spring, the mountain chill numbed Alice and she’d start to cry. “Well,” I told her, “a little frost is good for the spirit. Makes us appreciate the summer when it finally gets here. Just think, Alice, how toasty we’ll be sitting in that cabin with the sun baking the windows. We’d like to relax on that deck but we won’t dare. Some neighbor might just start up a conversation and there’d we’d be with our mouths hanging open. Oh, we’d be in a fix then, Alice.”

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Alice looked at me, her hazel eyes huge, like moon saucers in a milky sky. She burbled and laughed, a trickle of formula dribbling down her chin. “Now Alice, is that any way to treat a lady?”

 

I gathered her up in my arms and rocked her to sleep beneath the pines, still keeping my eyes on the cabin. As their van pulled out of the drive and headed down Mountain View, I lay Alice in back and opened the car. The vanilla scent of Jeffries drifted toward me as their sap started spring thaw. Oh my, I thought, oh my, what a sweet world this is.

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As I started through the grass toward the front steps, a neighbor who was just returning from lake fishing waved. I waved back. He offered me some fish. “Thank you, no,” I called, “we’re vegetarians.”

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He laughed, “Don’t know what you’re missin,” and drove his truck into the garage.

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I could hardly breathe after that, hoping he wouldn’t charge over and insist I eat one of his bloody catch. Their little mouths still hung open as if gasping for air. Even though I was famished, the thought of eating them almost made me sick.

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The stairs needed repair, loose nails poked into my toes. If I owned this place, I’d take better care of it. At the top I tried the door. It was locked as I knew it would be. However, I also knew the lock was old and my trusty screwdriver could jimmy it. Once inside I relaxed for a minute beside the fireplace, one of those free standing black steel ones. I really preferred craggy stone fireplaces with huge logs like in pioneer days but you take what you get.

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I made a sudden rush for the bathroom, so nice and clean, not like those smelly outhouses I’d had to get used to. I flushed the toilet three times to make certain everything had gone down. No way was I going to leave a mess. I washed my face in the immaculate sink and dried it on a soft white towel. I didn’t like soiling their towels but that was one thing I couldn’t avoid.

 

In the kitchen I put my face under the faucet for a drink but then quickly stood up, withdrew a sparkling wine glass from the cupboard and then filled it with clear cold mountain water. I swallowed slowly, quenching the thirst that ravished me all year long. Mountain air was dry, getting enough water a daily chore.

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I began to explore the kitchen when I thought I heard Baby Alice. I ran down the steps before she let out a scream that could alarm the fisherman and get us locked up fast. She was just waking when I got to the car. I picked her up and slung a blanket over her like I was toting a bag of groceries should the fisherman suddenly appear at his window.

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“Sh…sh…baby,” I cooed laying her on the couch to change her diaper. Disposing of diapers would be another problem. But I’d deal with that later. Right now I’d better fetch the diaper bag and the rest of Alice’s gear. I waved again as I went to the car. The old fisherman was on his deck heating up his barbecue. He waved a fish at me but I just laughed and hurried inside. I was hoping they’d left some food in the fridge. But it was empty, only a box of oatmeal in the cupboard and some imitation maple syrup. Well, that’ll have to do. “Look Alice, I’ll make us a nice bowl of oatmeal for supper, very healthy.” She grinned and clapped her little hands.

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I set her down on the sofa again and microwaved the oatmeal, sloshed it with syrup and started feeding us, one spoonful for Alice and one for me. “This is fun, Baby, isn’t it?” I tickled her toes, counting them one by one as she gummed the oatmeal.

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Suddenly there was a knock on the door. I pretended not to hear it. Grabbing Alice, I lay her on the patchwork quilt in the bedroom and shut the door. The knock again, real loud this time so I had to answer. No way could I pretend I didn’t hear.

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The fisherman stood there with a plate of cookies. “Fresh outa the oven. You got to try one or my wife will be offended.”

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“How thoughtful.”

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He started to nudge inside. “The Smiths rent this place every so often, usually to some noisy family. Glad to see a nice young woman like you here for a change.”

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“Thank you.”

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“They asked me to check on their place every now and then so this is now. If you need anything just holler.”

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“How kind.”

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“Least I can do. We try to be good neighbors up here.”

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“I’m sure.”

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“I can’t leave with these cookies still on me. Ethel will have a fit.” He pushed through the door and set them on the bar. “I’ll let the Smiths know you’re enjoying the cabin when they call to see if everything’s okay and all. Never know up here, been a lot of break-ins lately.”

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“They look awesome. I can hardly wait to bite in.”

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“Well then, go fer it.” He closed the door and whistling, started down the steps.

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I stood there shaking, my stomach clenched, while the cookies cooled on the counter. We couldn’t leave now. It would be too obvious. But suppose the owners called him or came back for something they forgot. What then?

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Put it out of your mind, I told myself. You’ve got to spend the night for Alice’s sake. She was asleep now, so peaceful I just couldn’t wake her. She needed a full night’s sleep in a nice warm bed. In the morning early, before the fisherman rose we’d be on our way. But this night was ours.

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I closed the curtains in the bedroom. They were white lace just like my grandma had in her place down the hill. I lived with her before she died. Afterwards I was on my own, except for when I met Sully. But that only lasted long enough to have Baby Alice. He was gone in a shot, and Alice and I have been wanderers ever since.   

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I lay down beside her and snuggled her in my arms. “Sleep my child and peace attend thee all through the night.” I sang softly, the old song somehow comforting me. Nothing could go wrong if I just kept singing. Through the curtains I saw the moon, a silver sliver in a purple sky. Soon it would be night, all black and starry, enough starlight to find our way back down the mountain if we left right now. But Alice started to cough again. I knew we couldn’t leave regardless of the risk of staying.

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During the night I woke several times to comfort Alice, whose cough was hitting an all-time high. She could hardly breathe so I picked her up and walked her about the cabin, patting her back, giving her little sips of water. There must be a clinic somewhere, I thought, or an Emergency that would take her for free. Her little chest rattled when she coughed as if it would burst with the effort. “It’ll be okay, Alice. Momma’s gonna take care of you. She won’t let anything bad happen. I promise.”

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As the night wore on Alice’s breath seemed to fade like she was giving up trying. Her little pink lips trembled. Her eyes had that glassy stare. I felt her forehead. It was burning with fever. I wet the kitchen towels with cold water and pressed them to her brow. If she could just make it until morning I’d get her to a doctor somehow even if it was Sunday.                                                                                                     

 

As dawn fired the sky with streaks of red as fierce as Alice’s fever, I gathered our things and headed for the door. As we started down I noticed a patrol car hidden beneath the pines. Its strange silence imprisoned me. I couldn’t run, I could hardly even walk. I stood traumatized as the door swung  open. Baby Alice whimpered. I pressed her against my breast. “It’s okay, Baby,” I whispered, “it’s okay….”

 

Slowly the officer approached, his arms extended as if he were hoping to cuddle Alice. I held her tighter, pressed her against me so hard I felt our hearts beat in rhythm. “No worries,” he murmured, his voice silky like the rustle of pines in the morning breeze. He came closer just touching Baby’s blanket. His bulky fingers ran up her spine until they touched the wave of new dark hair on her head. She shivered, then started to scream as his fingers pressed into her feverish flesh.

 

“She’s not well. I’m taking her to the doctor. There must be one open on Sunday. There must be….”

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He helped us into his car, “We’re headin there right now. Just get you both strapped in good. Then we got a little paperwork to take care of at the station.”

 

Across the grass a garage door swung open. The fisherman unrolled his truck window and waved, “Another fresh catch.”  

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Through the rear window of the patrol car I saw the fisherman following us. His lights burned deep and hard.