MARCH 10, 1945
From the open window of the Cadillac, I waved to Adora and Zeke where they stood on the porch of Adora’s house. They smiled and waved back, but I knew Adora’s happy expression masked her tears. I’d stayed in the Cadillac keeping the heat on, while Honor and Jilly walked to the car, lugging their suitcases, Jilly clutching her doll Nursie in her free arm. I hadn’t wanted to be in the house for the good-byes. It would have been unbearable to witness that scene.
I got out of the car to open the trunk.
“Hi, Miss Tess!” Jilly said, trying to lift her small suitcase over the bumper.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, taking the suitcase from her and slipping it between my own suitcase and one of the spare tires.
I rested my hand on Honor’s back as she slipped her suitcase into the trunk. “How are you holding up?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” She smiled at me to let me know she meant it.
I closed the trunk and the two of them got into the backseat, Jilly clambering in on her hands and knees. They called out their good-byes, Honor’s voice not betraying the mix of emotions she had to be feeling. She was leaving her family and Hickory, heading across the country on a long uncertain journey toward a future she yearned for but hadn’t dared to imagine.
I turned to look at my passengers. “All set?” I asked.
“Yup!” Jilly said, her little legs sticking out straight from the seat, Nursie on her lap. She had no real idea what she was in for. Honor had done a good job of convincing her she was going on a great adventure. Indeed, she was.
Honor leaned forward to squeeze my shoulder. “Let’s go, Tess,” she said quietly, and I knew she needed to get away from her mother and brother, away from Ridgeview and everything familiar, before she broke down.
I steered the Cadillac into the street, and for the hundredth time that morning, I thought over everything we had with us, hoping we’d forgotten nothing. I didn’t ask Zeke where he had gotten that second spare. I already knew too much I would need to lie about if we were stopped. We had chicken sandwiches Adora had packed for us, bags filled with apples, biscuits, and molasses cookies, and a big thermos of cold tea. I had the Green Book and I’d marked possible places, most of them private homes, where we—or at least Honor and Jilly—could safely stay along our route. I had a map of the country as well as maps for Tennessee and Kentucky, the first states we’d drive through. I’d affixed the red C sticker to the windshield and had the gasoline coupons safely in my handbag. At Zeke’s suggestion, I’d packed a pail we might need on the road if we couldn’t find a bathroom Honor and Jilly would be able to use. I hoped and prayed I’d thought of everything.
I had five hundred dollars in my handbag, the money Henry had hidden for me in the armoire. I also had cash in the bank from the stipend intended to tide me over until I received my inheritance. One worry I would never have for the rest of my life was money. I planned though to find a way to give some of that “inheritance” to Henry and Honor. I wanted Honor and Jilly to have a much better life than the one they’d had so far, and Henry could use some money himself. He was no longer the owner of a prestigious factory. Instead, he was training to be a ship builder in a town near Seattle, starting out as an apprentice, keeping the fact that he’d lived and breathed woodworking all his life a secret. He didn’t want anyone poking into his background. I was sure his supervisors were finding him a quick study.
I drove out of Ridgeview, heading toward Lake Hickory, our last stop before we started our journey. We passed the small building where I’d been living with Grace since moving out of Ruth’s house. Grace was funny and kind and it was all I could do to keep myself from telling her the truth about Henry, but I wisely stayed silent and feigned my grief. I’d yet to see that wild side of Grace that Ruth had told me about long ago. I found her lively and positive, qualities that had made her a wonderful nurse in the polio hospital.
I saw the sparkle of the lake through the trees and turned onto the road leading to the hospital. It felt strange to be driving up that narrow rutted road in a skirt and blouse rather than my nurse’s uniform. Four days ago, the Hickory Emergency Infantile Paralysis Hospital closed its doors. During the nine months we’d been in existence, we’d treated four hundred and fifty-four inpatients. We lost twelve of them, and though we grieved each one, our losses were the lowest percentage of any polio treatment facility in the country. We’d still had eighty-seven patients at the time we closed, Amy Pryor being one of them. Twelve ambulances and seventy cars driven by our tireless volunteers drove every one of those patients to a new treatment center in Charlotte. As they left, the patients cried. The staff cried. I cried.
I pulled into the parking area near the stone building. Only a few cars and trucks were there this morning, and I saw workers carrying boxloads of equipment out of the wards. The Fresh Air Camp’s days as a hospital were over.
I drove as close to the stone building as I could get, and Jilly suddenly let out a shout from the backseat.
“There’s Doctor Vince!” she yelled. “In real-people clothes!”
Honor laughed, and I smiled. Yes. There he was, standing near the front of the building, looking handsome in tan trousers and a camel-hair coat, a brown plaid scarf at his neck. He walked toward us as I stopped the car in front of him.
He got into the Cadillac, taking off his fedora. Leaning across the bench seat, he kissed me, then turned to look behind him at Honor and Jilly. “Ready for the grand journey?” he asked.
“Yes!” Jilly said with all the joy of a child who had no idea what it was going to be like to spend the next nine days cooped up in a car.
Vincent looked at me as I put the car in gear. “Want me to drive?” he asked.
“I’ll drive first,” I said as I pulled out of the parking lot.
“We have a million apples and cookies,” Jilly told Vincent.
“Well, we’re very lucky people,” he said.
I thought of what lay ahead of us. More than a week on the road with counterfeit rationing coupons and a fake C sticker. Only the two tires to replace any flats we might have. The worry of being stopped by the police or maybe harassed by bullies, wanting to know what we were doing with Honor and Jilly in our car.
The day before, I’d sat in Adora’s house, ticking off all my worries to Honor as we talked about what we needed to pack.
“I’ll put up with nine difficult days to get a lifetime of happiness,” Honor’d said simply. I thought she was very brave.
It wasn’t only Honor and Jilly who were embarking on a grand new adventure this morning though. When Vincent and I left Washington State, we would head home to Baltimore. After eight months away, Vincent no longer had his job at the Harriet Lane Hospital, but he planned to open his own pediatric office with me working by his side. We’d had plenty of practice learning how to work together over the past few months. Plenty of time to fall in love all over again too. Very quietly, of course. Very carefully. Once again, we were waiting impatiently until we could be together, out in the open, as husband and wife. We would be married in May, one year later than we’d originally planned. I’d had to do some soul-searching about getting married when I was still technically married to Henry, but it was the only way to have a life with Vincent. It was impossible to get a divorce from a dead man.
In my mirror, I saw Jilly get to her knees in the backseat and turn around to look out the rear window, Nursie clutched under one arm.
“Bye-bye, Hickory!” She waved with her free hand. “Bye-bye!”
We were quiet, Honor, Vincent, and myself, all of us, I thought, touched by her words. Bye-bye, Hickory.
I remembered the article that had appeared in the Hickory Daily Record the day the hospital closed its doors. So ends the final chapter of the “Miracle of Hickory,” the reporter had written. It had been my miracle too, I thought now. I’d arrived in Hickory broken and frightened and filled with shame, but I had a strength inside me now I’d never known I possessed.
I turned onto the main road that would take us out of Hickory, and in my rearview mirror, I watched the buildings grow smaller and smaller until they disappeared altogether, and we were left with the open road ahead of us and a cloudless blue sky.
“Good-bye, Hickory,” I whispered to myself, my gaze on the mountains in the distance. “Good-bye,” I said, “and thank you.”