Worried, I searched her face. She waved away my concern and shuffled her tired bones to the door.
I followed inside. “Retta, let’s get you into bed. I’ll put on the kettle and fetch you a fresh bedpig.” At the foot of Retta’s iron bed, I pulled out the foot warmer from under the covers, unscrewed the lid, and emptied the water from the pottery-shaped pig off the side of the porch. I collected more wood for the stove and fireplace. In a few minutes the kettle whistled, and I filled the bedpig up with hot water and slipped it back under her covers.
I helped Retta over to her bed and tucked her in. “Thank you for everything, Retta.” I studied her sweet sleepy face and kissed the old woman’s cheek as she drifted off.
Several times, I noticed Retta wince in her sleep. Growing uneasy, I lifted the back of my hand to her forehead checking for fever and then sat a while watching her breathe.
Eleven
Three days later, I climbed the fire tower as the March winds knotted into wisps of fog around the little wooden cab in the sky. Scents of an awakening forest sweetened the air after its winter slumber. Somewhere in the hills a dog barked, and another answered back. A lively tune slipped out from the cab as I knocked on the trapdoor.
The music stopped and Pearl opened the wooden trap. “Come up, Honey. I’m glad you made it over. I’m cooking a gourmet dish, and I made enough for two.” She waved a dish towel, motioning me up.
I took the stairs up the platform and stepped inside.
“Smells delicious.”
“You just missed R.C.,” she said, standing over the stove. “Whoever did the steps wrecked my cab up here and destroyed the new radio.”
“I’m sorry. Did R.C. find out anymore?”
“No, he dropped off one of his old radios from the station and this new padlock for the outside latch.” She pointed her fork to a shiny, big lock on the counter. “He wanted me to be able to use it on the inside latch at night and the outside one when I needed to run errands.”
“R.C.’s smart like that,” I said.
“Make yourself comfortable. You can sit anywhere.”
The cab was spotless with a few scattered rugs. A potbelly cozied beside a cooking stove, both warming the cab. I set my leather satchel down on the floor and slipped off my coat, folding it over a chair.
Her narrow wooden bed had been placed across from the table, the tick mattress spilling some of its corn-husk stuffing. It was unmade and I moved over to it, admiring two old stuffed toys strewn across it. I touched the cloth baby doll with its sweet hand-painted face, studied the faded flowery seersucker dress and frizzed yarn hair. It looked like the stuffed body had been stitched up a few times. A worn, dark-brown horse with a soft golden mane, tail, and matching button eyes rested close by.
I remembered my cloth baby doll that Mama had sewn and the stuffed teddy bear Papa had bought for me in Tennessee.
Pearl came over and scooped them up, mumbling low, “Let me move Arlie and Mr. Cleveland, so you can sit.” She blushed and stuffed the toys under her pillow and quickly pulled up the sheets and quilt. “Mother insisted on packing them. Sorry for the mess. I got busy with the Osborne and forgot to make my bed this morning.” She smoothed down the covers.
A small chifforobe sat beside her bed. I peeked around the dresser to where a door stood half-open. A leggy, wooden washstand holding a pitcher, bowl, and chamber pot had been squeezed inside the closet.
In the center of the room, an Osborne Firefinder rested atop a large wooden table next to a black rotary-dial telephone. I bent over and peeked through the sliding peephole of the Osborne and took the sight handle, lining it up with the crosshairs.
At the stove, Pearl glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, I see you know how it works.”
“Yes, R.C. taught me and Mama.” I looked at all the ledgers. There was one for Fire Reports, a second for False Fires, and another that said Weather. I picked up one for Lightning Strikes and scanned another thick one labeled Maps. “Sure is a lot of work recording everything and fighting fires.”