“Mrs. Post, I’ll put you and the little one in here, right adjacent.” With that, Mrs. Gregory leaned forward and looked squarely into my eyes. “And what might your name be?” she asked, her deep voice softening just slightly. Before I could answer, she cocked her head sideways as she remarked, “Well, don’t you have just about the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen? A shade of blue you can see right through. You look like your daddy.” Mrs. Gregory took a pinch of my left cheek in two of her strong, callused fingers. “There’s no denying that one came from your stock, Mr. Post.”
Papa laughed feebly. “This is Marjorie,” Mother interjected. “And this will do just fine.” And then, a beat later, Mother nodded once, adding: “Thank you, Mrs. Gregory.”
“Happy to have you,” Mrs. Gregory replied, standing back to full height, her head almost bumping into the pitched ceiling. Patting down the front of her starched apron, she said, “Now, you get settled in. Wash up if you like. Supper’ll be on in an hour, and I sure hope you’re hungry.”
Papa grimaced and Mother’s scowl seemed to indicate that she had little appetite, but I felt my stomach rumble just then in appreciation.
* * *
The sky had promised fresh snowfall, and snow it did. I awoke the next morning and pressed my nose to the cold pane of our bedroom window, looking out at a street brushed in white. My breath turned to mist on the pane as I took in my first view of this foreign winter scene. “Cold,” said Mother, sighing beside me as she rose slowly from the bed, her thin white braid slipping down her back. Of course to her, since she had grown up in Illinois, this glimpse of a frozen landscape was nothing new, and she looked unimpressed—and tired, weary before the day had even happened to her. I saw her breath as she spoke, her voice quiet and reedy as she said, “Now it’s finally time to see what this Dr. Kellogg can do.”
The aromas of coffee and frying meat—bacon, I hoped—wafted up to our bedroom as we washed and dressed. I was hungry, and excited for another one of Mrs. Gregory’s meals. “Breakfast,” Mother said. “And then it’s off to meet him.”
Him meant Dr. Kellogg; that I knew well enough. We had come all that way, on a long winter’s journey that could have sapped the last of Papa’s reserves, Mother carrying all of our remaining money on her person, and now we had no choice but to submit fully to the hopes we had placed in Dr. Kellogg and his celebrated San.
That morning, the day of Papa’s first appointment, Mother and I bundled ourselves under knit scarves and hats, mittens over our gloves and extra socks on our feet, then we piled wool blankets high on Papa and made ready to push him the short distance to the campus in the wheeled wooden chair that Mrs. Gregory offered us.
Our hostess saw us to the door, pressing a small parcel of golden biscuits, still warm and dripping with melting butter, into Mother’s hands. “Dr. Kellogg is a Seventh-day Adventist, so you best not let him see these sinful little buns,” she said as she winked at Mother, her tone indicating that she herself was not of Dr. Kellogg’s faith. “The doctor runs that facility with an iron will…controls just about everything from what folks wear to what they eat and drink.” Mrs. Gregory adjusted my scarf so it came right up to my nose. “And I’d suggest you refrain from wearing a corset the next time you’re heading to the campus, Mrs. Post. The good doc does not approve of the things.”
Mother inhaled a sharp gasp of scandalized breath. “But…would that not be…immodest? I would hardly wish for Dr. Kellogg to think that we Posts are—”
Mrs. Gregory chuckled as she interjected: “My dear Mrs. Post, unless you are a slide of harmful bacteria, the good Dr. Kellogg likely won’t look at the shape of you for more than a passing minute. You must remember—the man has been married for decades and has very proudly shared with the world that he and his wife have never…well…consummated their union.”
Mother took my gloved hand in hers and shifted on her feet. “Indeed…” was all she offered in reply.
Mrs. Gregory looked down at me, her round eyes narrowing. “You certain you don’t want to leave the little one here with me? I don’t see how that hospital is any place for a youngster.”
Papa winced slightly and I stepped closer to his wheelchair. “I will stay with Papa,” I said, my tone resolute.
“Then that’s settled.” Mrs. Gregory gave me a nod, the hint of a smile upturning her lips. “And I’m certain he will be happy to have you.”