A FATHER'S RESCUE
Chapter Nine

The doctor turned to David. "Are you her husband?"

"No, we're tenants in the same building. I just had to bring her here. She can hardly breathe."

"Yes, I can see. I have something I really must do right now, please stay here with her until I get back, and I will do what I can for her."

The doctor hurried off. David was amazed at his unconcern, but knew he could not spare the time to fume over it. Rose needed him, he had to stay with her. Rose stirred again suddenly, gasping for air as she opened her eyes. She turned her head slowly to one side--and for the second time that evening couldn't believe her own eyes.

Although she only glimpsed the face of the man who passed through the busy corridor for the briefest of seconds, she would recognize his posture and the wavy light brown hair anywhere. He appeared to have lost a great deal of weight, but it was him. It had to be.

"Daddy!" she called out. "Daddy, it's me, Rosie!" The man didn't seem to hear her, and soon he was lost among the crowd. "Daddy, come get me, please! Please come back! Come back, please, come back!"

Rose strained to climb off the examining table, but a man's arms pulled her back and she was too weak to resist. Instead she collapsed into his arms, shaking. David could barely hear her voice.

"Come back," she whispered. "Come back."

"Rose, what's the matter? Who was that you saw?"

"I said, that was my father. I know it was him! I only saw him for a second..."

"I'll find him for you, Rose, when you're better. This is important now, please lie still so the doctor can look at you."

Rose reluctantly went along. The doctor went slowly, which encouraged David. He had expected him to rush.

"You're going to have to stay here for a few days," the man in the white smock was saying. Rose could barely understand him; it sounded as if one or the both of them were underwater.

Now the doctor was pulling David aside, but she could catch a few words here and there. The doctor said something about hallucinations and threw a concerned glance her way. David only shook his head. Then the doctor left and David returned to Rose's bedside. She had gone to sleep, her breath still coming in short bursts. He sat beside her to wait out the night, taking a hand in his and wiping her feverish brow.

Meanwhile, the man Rose had called out to mingled with the crowd on his way out of the hospital. He'd just been discharged, despite his insistence to the doctors that he had nowhere to go. They treated him with the same disrespect they showed all the poor, turning him out with little concern for where he would spend the night. Only one compassionate soul had given him the name of a woman he once treated who ran a boarding house nearby. Perhaps she could help him.

Michael Bukater, now penniless, bedraggled and very ill, was oblivious to his daughter's cries for help. He checked the address on a crumpled piece of paper and headed for the home of one Edna Wallace.

When he reached the run-down building, he knocked softly, simply glad that he may have a place to sleep tonight. The door was answered by a large, gruff-looking woman.

"Hello," Michael said uncertainly. "Someone said you have a room for rent."

"Yes. I have an open room. You can have it, if you can pay."

"Right now I only have a little. I just got out of the hospital. I'm going to look for a job, but if you'd rather I'll just stay tonight."

Mrs. Wallace frowned. This man had been ill so recently, and he was a total stranger. If something should happen...still, it was clear the man could use a square meal and a warm bed. She did have a vacant room...

"All right, come on in. What's your name, anyway?"

"Michael," he mumbled.

"Speak up dear," she said, and pointed to her left ear. "It's rather noisy out here."

He cleared his throat. "Michael," he repeated, enunciating each syllable. He wouldn't volunteer a last name, but then again, this didn't appear to be the type of lodgings that would require one.

Mrs. Wallace nodded. "All right, then. Come on in. I'll give you the grand tour." She smirked and led him past a few closed doors to a dark stairwell. "Careful, now," she warned, just seconds before a huge creature that was all hair brushed past his legs on its way down. He jumped, assuming it was a rat--he'd seen more than his share of those since arriving in this city--but when he dared a closer glance, he saw it was a cat, a quite healthy one, judging from its size. It stared back at him in a curious fashion, its tail a question mark in the air. Michael smiled to himself. He'd always loved animals.

The woman led him to a room at the end of the hall, opened the door, and stepped aside to allow him in. Michael turned on a lamp on a small table and looked around the room. "This will be fine, thank you," he said softly.

It was a small room, obviously well lived in, but Michael was not about to complain...anywhere was better than where he was used to sleeping.

Mrs. Wallace said good night and left. Michael was so tired, he sat on the bed, took off his shoes, and climbed in. He drifted off so quickly that he noticed nothing else about his environment except that his bed was indeed very comfortable, by his standards. It was not until he woke the next day and went down to the kitchen that he began finding out more.

A ragtag group was gathered around a long dining table laden down with a feast that set Michael's stomach to growling. Sausages, bacon, grits and scrambled eggs, steaming coffee. He'd had nothing but small servings of bland hospital food for days. He was so busy staring at the fixings, he didn't notice that all conversation had stopped until a gruff voice spoke.

"You gonna sit down or you gonna keep standin' there droolin' over the food like it's a purty woman?" The source of this witticism was an unkempt little man with several days' growth of stubble. Michael, taking a seat unobtrusively, could smell the liquor on him. "Course, there ain't no purty women to speak of at this table."

The lone woman in the group, whose frosty blond hair was dark at the roots, gave him an evil look and threw a biscuit at him.

"Speaking of pretty women, where's the princess?" asked a man who was built like a lumberjack.

The others all looked confused suddenly, as if they hadn't noticed anyone was missing.

"Yeah, and David?" The blonde gradually smiled as if she'd discovered a dirty secret. "They're in his room, of course. I knew there was something going on with them."

The drunk snorted. "And she wouldn't give me 'alf a chance."

"Yeah, can you imagine that?" the big man said. He leaned over and shook Michael's hand in his firm grip. "Name's Sam. The tart is Frances--" She made a face at him, then smiled invitingly at Michael. "--this idiot's Louie, and this here," he finished, pointing to a man who'd said absolutely nothing so far, "is Lincoln. The mutt here lives with Linc, but he belongs to all of us."

"That's right. Goes by the name Roosevelt, he does," Lincoln added quickly.

Michael peered under the table at the big, lazy dog, who slapped his tail against the floor but otherwise didn't move a muscle. Hmmm, Lincoln and Roosevelt, he thought. This was going to be an adventure.

Mrs. Wallace, who was also seated at the table, had tuned out the banter. She soon got up and went upstairs, looking into David and Rose's rooms. The others at the table had been wrong; neither of their beds had been slept in. There were no notes anywhere. So, the question was, where had they gone?

It was not typically her way to worry about tenants, but Mrs. Wallace knew that Rose had often been extremely tired since she arrived, and she and David had spent a good bit of time together. She could guess that wherever they were, it had something to do with Rose. Maybe she was sick, not just unable to sleep.

Surprising even herself, Mrs. Wallace went to the telephone and dialed to get the number of the nearest hospital. It took quite some time to get someone on the line, but once she had, she learned quickly that Rose was indeed there, and David was with her. She couldn't get any further information, however, and the frustration showed on her face as she exited her apartment, a shawl thrown over her shoulders.

She missed colliding with her new tenant by a split second. "Oh, my, you frightened me!"

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" she called to him as he headed upstairs. She already knew the answer; he'd eaten second and then third helpings. But it was nice to have someone express their appreciation verbally every now and then. She was to be rewarded this time.

"Yes, it was wonderful," Michael praised her.

Wearing a self-satisfied grin, the landlady marched out the door. She gave a curt nod to Lincoln, who was tugging Roosevelt along on a leash, and headed in the direction of the hospital.

It was chaotic as usual, as were most hospitals in the poorer neighborhoods, and no one paid any attention to Mrs. Wallace, a fact that caused her much consternation. Finally, she grabbed the arm of a nurse. "Excuse me, please. I need to find a patient. I heard she was admitted last night--"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll need to wait," the nurse snapped in irritation, and quickly moved on.

Mrs. Wallace stomped away in a huff. She wasn't going to wait. She knew who would help her. He had no choice.

She found Dr. Ross Hudson sequestered in his office on the administration floor, far away from the cries and complaints of the patients. He pretended to be busy, but she refused to leave.

"I need to find a patient," she insisted. "I was told she was admitted here."

"Who is she?" the doctor asked. "One of your derelict tenants?"

"I'd watch who I called a derelict," Mrs. Wallace warned, her eyes steely. "I seem to recall you visiting one of them quite frequently. Frances misses you, by the way. She still mentions you from time to time."

He sighed and beckoned for her to follow him to another office at the opposite end of the corridor. "One of these ladies will be happy to assist you," he said, and turned, in an obvious hurry to distance himself from her.

Mrs. Wallace couldn't resist a parting shot. "Oh, by the way, how's your wife?"

Dr. Hudson hurried away, offering no answer. This was what Mrs. Wallace had expected and so went on her way. She entered the office she had been led to, hoping one of these people would at last be able to tell her where Rose was.

"Excuse me," she said to the young woman at the desk. "I'm looking for a patient. She is a new tenant in my building and I'm afraid I don't know her last name yet. Her first name is Rose."

The nurse asked Mrs. Wallace to wait while she looked through the patient register. After some moments, she returned. "We have two patients by that name right now. I don't have anything to do with admitting the patients personally so I'm afraid we'll have to check both rooms."

"That's fine, thank you," Mrs. Wallace answered quickly. She had a bad feeling inside, and simply wanted to find her young tenant as soon as possible.

Rose was asleep when her landlady entered Ward C, making her way--carefully and quietly, for once--over to the narrow bed. Rose looked exceptionally frail, her normally lustrous red mane a tangled mess around her face. David was at her side, holding her hand. He looked up, startled, when Mrs. Wallace spoke his name. "How long has she been like this?"

"Since yesterday." He looked lost, a little frightened, even, so much so that he didn't think to ask how she found them. He reached down and brushed a few tendrils of hair from Rose's face.

"Oh, my. The poor dear." Uninvited, Mrs. Wallace pulled up a chair and settled her heavy frame into it. "Has she told you anything about her family? I think it's important that we notify them, in case she--"

"She'll be fine," David interrupted, and she was taken aback at his harsh tone. "She's strong. She's a survivor."

She stared at him with a combination of pity and a sort of admiration. The poor boy was falling in love. And with this haughty upper-class snob who had by some mysterious means fallen by the wayside and ended up in a run-down boarding house. David had never before looked twice at a woman since he'd taken a room at her place. And now she'd dropped everything to rush over to the hospital to find her. What was it about this girl that made people want to look after her?

Mrs. Wallace pondered this for some time and could come to no conclusion. But the fact was she was here now, and David looked exhausted.

"Have you been awake all this time?"

"Yes," David whispered in answer. "When I first brought her here she was still aware of things, but she's been in and out of consciousness since. She has quite a fever. I told her I would be here, until she was better."

"You have been here all night, you must be starving, at the very least. Go take some time for yourself, I'll stay here with Rose. Don't worry, I'll manage."

David looked at his landlady, obviously very doubtful.

"Go on, she probably won't wake up for a while. If she does, I'll come find you." David nodded, but still took his leave reluctantly. Mrs. Wallace pulled the chair closer and took Rose's hand as she had seen David doing. Once again, she didn't know why she was doing this. It just seemed...right, somehow.

Chapter Ten
Stories