Victoria Knoll sat alone in the darkened room. She had pulled her shades as twilight took away the day. Sounds were filtering through the closed windows. A howling dog. The slam of a screen door, a cricket chirping, a distant ambulance. The last of the children being called indoors by their parents. It was a peaceful hour. Victoria was aware of the sounds, but the even creak of her own small once elegant velvet platform rocker made her sleepy, and she began to doze.
“I must stay awake for Otto,” she told herself. “He’ll be along any minute.” But she began to fret, for she knew he would be late. He always was when he was out on a call. She tried hard to stay awake but her mind kept drifting from the present to the past. She was dwelling on Otto, dear Otto, her husband of many years. She remembered Otto saying goodbye to her as he left.
“This may take some time, dear. Poor Mrs. Johnson isn’t doing too well. I may have to sit with her a spell.”
He’s a fine doctor and a good husband. She smiled at the thought. “They don’t make them like that anymore,” she mused.
Her thoughts continued to be on Otto in her brief periods of wakefulness between little naps. My handsome Otto. He works well-nigh fifteen to twenty hours a day. “It’ll make an old man of you,” she told him, “before your time!” But he went on and she could never get him to slow down. He seemed stimulated by each new case. He never worried about payment. If patients could pay, they did. If not, he didn’t worry. But they were comfortable, and a most respected family in the small farm community. They were never without ample food, beef, poultry and other farm products which were used as payment by grateful patients.
Victoria didn’t always awaken when he answered the telephone by the side of the bed, usually on the first ring. But he always kissed her softly and said he’d wake her when he came home. She knew what that meant. He would be so wound up with the case he would need a warm drink to soothe him, usually a cup of hot tea and a snack. She loved these quiet, intimate middle-of-the-night times while the two of them would sit quietly at the kitchen table. Sometimes he talked about his experiences, other times he wanted to sit and drink quietly, hardly speaking. The two of them would hold hands and then slip quietly back to bed where he would drop instantly into a deep slumber while she stroked his head.
Victoria woke with a start. “I must have been asleep!” She thought. “I think I hear Otto at the front door.” Her fingers held tightly to the worn threads of her chair as she started to get up. “This arthritis is catching up with me,” she thought. “It gets harder to get up and down every day. I’ll have to mention it to Otto.” She tied the sash to her chenille robe which had come undone, stuck her toes into the scuffs which had slipped off and made her way into the kitchen, holding tightly to her walking cane. She didn’t need it all the time, but when the arthritis got bad, she felt safer with it.
She lit the burner and filled the tea kettle. She had already set the cups out and went to get a knife to cut a piece of cake for each of them.
“Hello, my dear.” He gave her a quick hug and kiss on the forehead like he always did. “You shouldn’t have waited up for me, old girl,” He scolded. “It’s almost midnight!”
“Is it really?” Victoria asked. “My, I must have had a long sleep right there in my rocking chair! Well, I’m glad you’re home at last. You must be very tired.”
He placed his doctor’s bag, an old black leather pouch bag, well worn, in the corner by the umbrella stand at the end of the hall by the kitchen door. Then he loosened his tie and sat down to wait for his tea.
“Mmmmm, chocolate cake, Vickie! Just what the doctor ordered,” he said. “I married the best cook in New Ulm. I knew that when I tasted your mother’s cooking……You look like her and now you cook like her. I always knew you’d make a wonderful wife and mother. She didn’t like it when I carried you off to La Grange, but I think she forgave me when we presented her with those two lovely daughters, don’t you?”
Victoria poured the hot steaming tea into their cups, then the milk, two spoons of sugar and stirred it, both cups. They were silent as they sipped the hot liquid. Otto cut a large chunk of chocolate cake with the side of his fork and put the whole thing into his mouth. “I like any cake you make as long as its chocolate cake. No need to make any other kind.”
“Oh, Otto, you do go on so. Now finish up your tea and get to bed. Sure as not, you’ll be getting another call before breakfast. Get your sleep while you can.”
He wiped his mouth with the napkin she always kept in a ring at his place. He stood up, bent over his dear Vickie and went out to the bedroom to get ready for bed. She called after him that she’d be there as soon as she covered the cake and put the milk away.
She wondered why he didn’t mention dear old Mrs. Johnson, but she knew better than to ask. The poor old soul was beyond help she guessed, and he would be feeling so inadequate. Be patient she told herself, he’ll want to talk tomorrow.
“Otto,” she called, “It’s good to have you home. I do miss you when you’re out. Even after all these years. What is it, fifty-five now? I miss you just like I did when I was a bride.”
She heard him grunt. It always embarrassed him when she spoke that way. It was hard for him to express feelings, but he didn’t have to. The bond between them was very strong.
He was brushing his teeth. She sat down to have the last sip of her tea. She had turned down their bed earlier in the evening before coming down to sit in her rocker to read and wait for him. He would be asleep before she could get to bed, poor dear. Victoria’s heart was light as always when Otto was home. She treasured every moment he was home, even when he was sleeping, because he had to be away so much of the time.
“Victoria,” he called.
“Alright, dear, I’m coming.”
The next day Jane Butler sang a little song as she walked up the path to Mrs. Knoll’s front door. She pressed the doorbell. She heard it ring inside, but Mrs. Knoll was so deaf, and she probably didn’t hear. She rapped the window by the front door, but still no sound of response. Janie had a key to the house for just such times. She was the county welfare worker and checked up on Mrs. Knoll every single day, along with ten other elderly persons.
“Mrs. Knoll,” she called as she entered the front door. She didn’t want to startle her.
“Oh, there you are!” Janie could just see the kitchen from the front door and had caught a glimpse of Mrs. Knoll. Guess she still can’t hear me, she thought. And went into the kitchen. “Why, Mrs. Knoll, you’re expecting company,” she said cheerfully. She saw the table was set for two with a piece of cake and a cup full of tea at one place and a half full cup at the other place. Crumbs from cake were on the plate next to it. “Any left for me?” Janie asked optimistically.
She touched her arm when she realized Mrs. Knoll didn’t hear her. She drew back instinctively. “She’s dead!” She wondered who she was expecting. “She never had company and certainly not that I ever heard of.” Poor Mrs. Knoll must have died sitting here last night. She remembered how cold her arm felt to touch. When Janie recovered from the shock, she realized that Mrs. Knoll must have died alone. I wish her guest had stayed a bit longer. But again, who could it have been?
Janie walked over to the telephone to call the police and an ambulance service to take the body to the funeral home. She dialed the phone and waited for them to answer. “Hello, police, this is County Welfare worker, Janie Wilson. I would like to report a death. Mrs. Victoria Knoll. I’ll give you the address.”
When she put the phone back, Janie happened to glance at the old-fashioned photograph hanging above the hall table above the telephone. It looked down at her from its dark oval frame. It was Dr. Knoll, late husband of Victoria Knoll. “Yes, Dr. Knoll, your wife loved you very much. She’s told me so many stories about you. She was very lonely for you. You must have been a good husband. I hope you’re together once again."
She walked into the living room to wait for the ambulance. She would have to go back to the welfare office now to get the records on Mrs. Knoll and then contact her two daughters who lived in Houston to tell them of their mother’s death. Mrs. Knoll had flatly refused to leave her home in La Grange to join her daughters. This was her home she had said, and she would stay there until she died. And she did. Janie said to herself, “Strange, I never noticed that doctor’s bag in the corner before. It must have belonged to Dr. Knoll. I wonder why Mrs. Knoll got it out, or why she even kept it all these years. Goodness, she said he’d been dead twenty years. Well, old people are strange, that’s for sure. I’ll miss her, though.”
Janie was young and her life would go on. She would remember her, but she had others who needed her, and they would soon go as well. Janie was cheerful and kind and considerate, and elderly people loved her. She brought a little sunshine into their endless days of waiting.
Janie heard the ambulance stop in front of the house. After all was quiet again, Janie stood looking out the window as the ambulance drove away. “Goodbye, Mrs. Knoll.” She saw the picture still staring at her through its glass, “You too, Otto,” she whispered, “Goodbye to you, too.” She opened the front door and took her key from her pocket and locked the door carefully.