New Beginnings

           During the Great Depression a noisy old four-door Model A pickup rattled down my alleyway, dust swirling behind it. There were close to a dozen scruffy looking passengers that appeared to be a large family of migrants. When they parked beside my back porch I left my mansion to great them. The bed of the truck was piled high with various household items and topped with a dirty mattress.  A wooden rocking chair was tied onto the front bumper. Attached to the backend were pots and pans, tin cups and a wash basin. The running boards were loaded with timeworn suitcases and other overstuffed bags worn with age.  On the roof sat a chamber pot. 

             Wearing my white nursing uniform I cautiously approached the pickup but stayed far enough away to feel safe from any airborne pathogens.  “Are you lost?” I asked.  “Do you need directions? Are you out of gas?” 

           Behind the steering wheel was a middle-aged man with leathery skin. Beside him sat a tired-looking woman attempting to nurse a fussy infant cradled in her arms. In the back seat I counted ten unkempt children crammed together. Most of the boys wore patched overalls, and the girls were dressed in baggy feed-sack dresses.   A few were standing, some hanging out the windows and others sitting on each other’s laps. Lying on top of the mattress was an old man withered from age. Beside him lay an elderly woman with sunken-in cheek bones and toothpick arms. Their weathered faces were mapped with deep wrinkles, and their sorrowful eyes and skeletal bodies told me they were frail and on the verge of starvation. When they began coughing I backed away. I feared they might have tuberculosis, or a fatal influenza that could kill off my nursing home patients. They might have asthma, bronchitis, silicosis, or dust pneumonia. They could be suffering from heart disease, hardening of the arteries, rheumatism, or mental disorders. There were also childhood illnesses to be concerned about. Any of the undernourished children could be stricken with parasitic diseases, infected with a deadly virus like polio, or be infected with tuberculosis. 

           “Do you speak English?” I slowly spoke, thinking the travelers might be illegal or illiterate refugees from Mexico.

           The couple nodded in unison.

           “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked the couple. “Do you need directions to the soup kitchen downtown?”

           They shook their heads which made me more confused and a little afraid that they might be dangerous like the Burrow gang who recently robbed banks and shot cops. I backed away just a little and kept my eyes on the driver. I expected at any moment he might pull out a gun and threaten me. Instead he opened his door and got out. With a toothless smile he held out his callused hand with dirty fingernails and jagged cuticles.  He was taller and thinner than I expected, and when he stepped a little closer I heard my two dogs growl from the back porch. Reluctantly, I took the man’s hand that felt like sandpaper. “Are you looking for work?” I asked. "My name is Miss Lilly."

           He spoke in a raspy voice that crackled with age beyond his middle years. “My name’s Ralph Hunter. This here is my wife, Lizzy. During the Dust Bowl Storm down south in Missouri we was forced out of our home that destroyed our house and land. We heard you had a nursing home that cares for old folks. My parents are poorly with the dust disease, and we was hopin’ you’d take em’ in.”

           I glanced up at the elderly couple that stank of stale urine. “I’m sorry for your trouble Ralph, really I am but I don’t do charity,” I said, fully aware of the measly twenty-five dollars that the government was paying monthly for sickly people over sixty-five. “I can’t afford it, not in these hard times.”

           Lizzy began to cry. "My milks all dried up and my baby's hungry."

           “I’ve got some milk for the baby, and I can spare a little food for everyone.”

           The man spoke. “Don’t accept no charity, but I’d put in an honest day’s work to feed my family.”

           I cringed at the thought of having them here; worried about contagious diseases and what the neighbors might think. “I’ve got my own handy man.”        

           The man’s pleading eyes told me of his hardship. “I’d do anything for ya’. I can chop wood or do any household chores that needs tended to.”

           I felt great sorrow for his starving family, and I even contemplated taking in his parents and finding him a job somewhere, but where would they live? Did my cook have enough food to feed them all? Was my meager bank account sufficient enough to lend assistance to a homeless family who had no money? I knew from the Iowa milk strikes going on that I wasn’t spending forty-five cents for several quarts of milk that could be deliberately tainted with kerosene.  “Ralph I’m sorry about your predicament, I really am. Your situation is heartbreaking, and I wish I could help you, but all I can offer you and your family is a meal. My cook can fix everyone breakfast, and I can give you more food for the road.”                      

           He looked down and when he reached up to wipe a tear sliding down his cheek I felt guilty for being so honest. Could I possibly live with myself if I turned this family away? How long would it be before his elderly parents passed away? Would his hungry children waste away from malnutrition? Would the baby pass away? Could I live with myself if the old couple died without medical care? Could I live with myself if Ralph and Lizzy died of broken hearts? Yes, I would live. I would live with the guilt of turning vagrants away and never knowing if they lived or died.

           As I invited the family into my yard I worried about my reputation. People in my town were paranoid about strangers or being subjected to incurable diseases, and I had to admit to myself that I was taking a great gamble inviting transients into the vicinity. My elderly residents, some with weak immunity systems, were highly susceptible to contagious diseases that could compromise their lives. I waved my arm to get everyone’s attention. “No one is allowed in the house or on the porch. If you need to use the toilet there’s an outhouse east of the carriage house.” I glanced at Abe. “Please fill a bucket with warm water and set it under the tree with a bar of Lifebuoy.  Bring some wash clothes and hand towels too.  Everyone is to wash their hands and faces before breakfast. If they’re thirsty they can drink from the well hydrant.”

           My handy man came from the carriage house. Barefoot and wearing a straw hat and raggedy overalls with patched knees, Abe opened the gate and came into the yard with a huge bowl overflowing with gigantic strawberries. As he handed them out one by one he ruffled a head of tangled curls on a red-headed boy with a freckled face.  Abe always was a sap for the neighborhood kids. Many times I caught him giving away our chicken eggs and fresh vegetables from the garden, especially those fully ripe ones that would spoil if not picked, canned or eaten right away.    

           Abe spoke kindly to the father, standing under the shade tree. “I sure needs some help weedin’ the garden and choppin’ some wood for our cookout today.” Abe turned his back to the family and winked at me. “Miss Lilly, are you gitten senile, or is you havin’ a heat stroke? We talked bout cookin’ outside one of these days when it got too hot to eat inside. This is a perfect time to do it. Call your best friend too and tell her I’ve got sumpin in a jug that will quench ‘er thirst.”

           Inside I asked Jimmy to prepare breakfast for a family of fourteen. I thought she’d be glad to do it, but instead she complained about the over-heated kitchen.  “Ain’t I got enough to do without slavin’ over a hot stove?” She said, stirring a pot of rice pudding for the nursing home residents' lunch. “Sides, you can barely afford to feed everyone living here, including Abe and me. How ya gonna fill the bellies of those needy folks? We got very little dairy stuff because of the farmer’s milk strike, and I used most of what we had for the pudding. Thar ain’t no sausage or bacon cause the farmers’ done slaughtered their starving pigs, and we’s only gots haf a dozen eggs cause I used six for the pudding.”

            I dipped my finger into the pudding and stuck it into my mouth, savoring the taste of the cinnamon . “Mix the rest of the eggs into a big pot of cooked oatmeal. Fry it in some lard and top it with homemade brown sugar syrup. The kids will love it and it will fill everyone’s bellies. Abe says he wants to have a picnic, so you don’t need to cook and heat up the kitchen. Just make some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the kids, and make up a big lettuce salad from Abe’s garden.”

           Jimmy spoke. “We’ve also got a block of cheese and some leftover meat loaf that will make good sandwiches for the nursing home residents and adults outside.”

           “One more thing; don’t let anyone into the house. You and Abe use the bathrooms in the mansion. I’ll find Doctor Bob’s number in the phone book. He’ll know what to do.” 

            When Bob answered he lectured me for being a bleeding heart. “The family will need to be tested for tuberculosis and polio,” he said. “I need to take a look at the elderly couple and get their lungs x-rayed. Do you want me to send an ambulance from Broadlawns Polk County Public Hospital?”

           When I returned back outside with adult diapers, terry robes and clean clothes, Abe carried the old couple into the carriage house. With Jimmy's help we removed their filthy timeworn clothes that smelled of wet beds and soiled bedsheets.  The man had an infected bedsore on his boney spine, and his wife had pressure sores all the way to her heal bones. 

After Doctor Bob arrived he treated the wounds and bandaged them. Then he examined the children. The infant’s bottom was raw with diaper sores. As Bob stated his concerns his masculine voice quivered with emotion. “This baby needs to go to the hospital. It’s dehydrated and on the verge of starvation. Without proper nutrition this emancipated child won’t make it.”

           The mother cried and the father hugged her. 

           Bob took me outside where we could talk alone. “Lilly, get me a water bottle with a new nozzle and fill it with some warm milk. While I’m feeding the baby call the ambulance. I want the old couple admitted to the Contagious Unit. If they’re free of communicable diseases the couple can come back to your nursing home after the hospital releases them.”

           “I’m not sure I want them here. I can’t afford charity cases and the State pays very little.”

           Bob gently took my hands is his. “Listen, Honey, you know you can’t turn these folks away. They don’t have anywhere to go, and God takes care of those who take care of themselves.”

           I blushed. It was the first time in years he had ever called me Honey, I knew it meant more than just a friendship.  “What about the rest of the family?”

           He pulled me close and stared lovingly into my eyes. “I’ve got an old two-story rental house in need of repair. If Ralph can roof it and fix the plumbing maybe we could work out a deal. There's also an opening at the hospital for a janitor. I can put in a good word for Ralph and explain the circumstances."