Read Online The Bernice L. McFadden Collection by Bernice L. McFadden - Free Book Online Page A

the foot of the bed and spread it gently over Melinda’s already heavily covered body. “Is that better?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    I need to interrupt here for a minute and let you know that soon after Cole and Melinda married, she miscarried the baby. Back then, she was strong and positive and thought for sure that the next one would stick—but it didn’t. And the same fate held true for the following three pregnancies.
    After the last miscarriage, Melinda developed a severe case of anemia, along with a host of ailments that flourish when you humans are sad or depressed.
    She’d been to see dozens of doctors who had prescribed her just as many medicines and tonics—but nothing seemed to help. Not a surprise, because even I know that you can’t cure unhappiness with a pill—even though your kind continues to try.
    Melinda gave Doll a pitiful look and sputtered, “I’ve gone and caught pneumonia.”
    Doll’s eyes bulged. “Pneumonia? Oh my sweet Jesus.”
    “I’m hot to the touch, but I feel like there’s ice running through my veins.”
    “How long have you had this fever, Miss Melinda?”
    “Two, maybe three days now.”
    Doll pressed her hands over her heart. “Well that ain’t good, not good at all.”
    Melinda started hacking and coughed up a glob of green phlegm, which she leaned over and spat into her chamber pot.
    “May I?” Doll asked.
    Melinda nodded, even though she had no idea what she was giving the woman permission to do.
    Doll rolled back the blankets exposing Melinda’s petite frame, which was so frail it didn’t even fill the thin nightgown she wore. When Doll reached for the hem of the gown, Melinda’s hands began to flail.
    “It’s okay, Miss Melinda,” Doll assured. She took hold of the hem and rolled the material up to Melinda’s belly button.
    Melinda’s thin, sun-deprived calves, thighs, and pink bloomers glared up accusingly at Doll.
    “What are you doing?” Melinda whispered.
    Doll gently pressed her hands against Melinda’s belly and closed her eyes.
    Melinda watched, and rationalized why she was letting the Negro woman touch her beneath her gown. She supposed desperation was a major factor because she was truly sick and tired of being sick and tired. If Doll had suggested that the sacrifice of a cow or fowl would rid her of her illnesses, and bring her husband back into their marriage bed, Melinda would have agreed— wholeheartedly.
    Hell, she had been poked, prodded, and prescribed medicine by some of the best doctors in Mississippi, and what good had it done her? So, really, what harm could the caring hands of a reverend’s wife present?
    Doll’s eyes fluttered open. “The fever is low in your belly, that’s a good thing. I know what to do.” Doll turned and rushed from the room.
    Melinda rolled her gown back down and pulled the covers over her body.
    When Doll returned, Caress was with her, holding a bowl. Melinda smelled the onions before she saw them.
    “Miss Melinda, where do you keep your nylons?”
    “Nylons?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Trust me.”
    Melinda coughed. “Caress, you know where they are.”
    Doll used her bare hands to shovel the sliced onions into the feet of the nylons and then slipped them onto Melinda’s feet.
    “Caress, hand me a towel so we don’t spoil these beautiful sheets,” Doll said.
    “And what will all this do?” Melinda asked.
    “It’s going to drag that nasty fever right out of you.”
    “It stinks.”
    “And it’s going to get worse. But you’re going to feel a whole lot better.”
    Doll went to the wicker basket filled with johnnycakes, plucked one from the dozen, and presented it to Melinda. “Try to eat little something.”
    Melinda shook her head. “I can’t keep nothing down.”
    “Well,” Doll sighed, as she dropped the cake back into the basket, “I’ll just leave them down in the kitchen and when you’re ready, they’ll be there.”
    Melinda rubbed her feet together and squirmed at the sensation.