So, things were going great. I knew that soon Frances would be heading off to school, and I was resigned to that, and I believed that it would be good for him. Mrs. Penn had commented that Carlo would need me more then. Carlo had another two years before he could start at the Tinker Town School.
Frank, the sometimes irksome officer, had stepped back slightly in the forcefulness of his wooing, giving me space, although he was still a steady presence in our household. (Carlo even called him Dad once.) Frank said he liked Mrs. Penn’s cooking and so he came to partake of her fried chicken, meat loaves, and pot roasts, but she said, winking at me, that it wasn’t her table servings that kept the officer in attendance.
One Saturday between afternoon and time for dinner prep, I took a good look at Mrs. Penn and saw that she looked drained and almost flat, if that makes sense. Her face was pale, and she lacked her usual sparkle and animation. I asked her about it, and she admitted to feeling tired.
I practically dragged her into one of the two downstairs bedrooms and urged her to take a nap. I pulled back the covers and watched as she slipped underneath. It was worrisome to see her looking “sickly” as the villagers put it when one of them dropped by to peek in on Old Mother in those final days.
I returned to the kitchen and completed the meal prep. When the boys stormed in for dinner and Frank, looking freshly showered and handsome as ever, sat down at the table, I explained about putting Mrs. Penn to bed. “She doesn’t look well. Should we call the doctor?” I asked.
I think Frank tried to read my face to see the seriousness of the situation, but then he said, “Dr. Benter is over in Bristle delivering a baby. That’s a good three hours away, and when he does get back into town he’s going to be thoroughly worn out. And, of course, babies seem to happen in the wee hours of the morning, so he probably won’t arrive in Tinkle Town much earlier than sun rise. Then, he’ll need rest. Let’s see how Mrs. Penn feels in the morning. If you can get her to stay here all night, that would be a good thing. Then we can keep a watch over her.”
Frank didn’t stay in the house during the night, so I didn’t know what he was saying about “we can keep a watch over her,” but I nodded, relieved that, even if he hadn’t bothered to look in at her, he believed that she was probably just overly tired.
I guess he hadn’t seen how quickly someone her age could succumb to pneumonia, which is what the doctor had told me killed my beloved Old Mother.