08

Chapter 7: Commitment and Crisis

May 19, 1969

The conversation with my mother stuck with me. I knew she was right. It was time to tell Shelly how I felt about her. It was the next morning when I hung back to talk to Mom. Shelly and Jurgen had already left for the garage.

"Mom, I need some advice."

She turned and looked at me with a knowing smile. "Go ahead."

"I ... I want to ask Shelly to ... marry me."

"I guessed that," she said, continuing to smile.

"You did?"

"I think you've picked a fine young woman for a wife, Roddy. I think she'll make you very happy."

"Yeah," was all I could manage in my confused state. "So ... what do I do now?"

Mom laughed. "Well, to start with, you need a ring. That nice Mr. Fleischer can probably help you. Besides, he's a good customer. We should show our thanks."

"Yeah ... a ring. Can you help me pick one out? I don't know what would be right for her."

"Of course. Why don't we meet there this afternoon, after lunch?"

It was agreed and I left Shelly and Jurgen in charge as I drove to Fleischer's Jewelry Store. Mom was waiting for me, chatting with Emil Fleischer as I walked in. After the usual greetings, the jeweler pulled out two trays of rings and placed them on the counter. I was dazzled by the display. I had no idea how to decide.

"Mom ... they all look great. I don't know how I'm going to make my mind up."

My mother hadn't looked up from the trays since Emil had placed them on the counter. Without turning to me, she pointed at three different rings and the jeweler took them from their mounts and placed them on a blue velvet cloth.

"You have excellent taste, Mrs. Williams. They are very good choices for Miss Dawson," he said.

I turned to my mother with a question. "How do you know which ones?"

"Rod, it's important that the ring match the person wearing it. These are bigger rings because Shelly has bigger hands. A small dainty ring would get lost on her. Now, which one do you like best?" she asked directly.

I looked at the three. One of them stood out because of its simplicity. Three stones, one large and two small in a plain gold setting.

"This one," I said, picking it up.

My mother smiled and the jeweler nodded. "Very good choice. Simple but elegant. I'm sure she will be very pleased," he said.

"Uhhhmmm ... I forgot to ask ... how much?" I asked sheepishly.

"Very reasonable. Eight hundred ninety-five dollars. For you, the wedding bands will be half price."

The number jolted me. I had no idea what engagement rings cost, but then, my mother had nodded approvingly when he announced the figure, so I assumed it was reasonable.

"Now, about the size?" the jeweler asked.

Mom produced a tracing from her purse. "This will do, won't it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Williams. That will be fine. If it's not right, we'll make it right," he smiled.

"Thank you Mr. Fleischer. It's a pleasure doing business with you. Don't forget the appointment for you wife's car next week."

"I won't. She won't let me. The squeal of those brakes will remind me all by themselves," he chuckled.

As they walked to the car, Mom could see the look of concentration on my face.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Uhhhmmm ... I was just trying to figure out when to do this."

"That's strictly your problem," she laughed. "There are some things a mother can't help you with."

I nodded as we drove off toward our home. I would have to give this some thought. The ring would be ready on Friday.

Thursday afternoon I stepped out of the office with the next job sheet. I looked about the shop for Shelly but didn't see her. I called out, but there was no answer.

"Duke, have you seen Shelly?"

"Yeah ...," he said looking around. "She was fitting a gasket in an oil pan a few minutes ago. Maybe she's in the pit."

I walked to the steps leading down into the pit and saw Shelly's crumpled form lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs. I was frozen in terror for an instant before yelling, "Duke! Quick ... call an ambulance! Shelly's hurt! Hurry!"

I scrambled down the stairs, nearly falling myself when my foot slipped on a slick tread. I reached her side and felt for a pulse. I'd had some first aid training in the army and it came back to me now. She was unconscious, but there was a pulse and she was breathing, although shallowly. I gently picked her up and carefully climbed out of the pit, wary of the slippery step I had encountered.

It seemed like hours before the ambulance arrived, but it was less than ten minutes. Duke had yanked the back seat out of the sedan he was working on and used it as a makeshift bed for Shelly. There was some matted blood in her hair above her left ear, but otherwise no sign of bleeding.

I was on my knees beside her, holding her hand, willing her to be all right. I could barely suppress the nausea roiling inside me. Jurgen had called my mother and she appeared just as the ambulance arrived. The two attendants checked Shelly over, gingerly lifting her onto a gurney, and placing her inside the waiting vehicle.

Mom asked Jurgen and Duke to look after the shop. She would go with me to the hospital and let them know her condition. I could see that the look on the faces of Jurgen and Duke was one of fear. Shelly was part of the family. It was no different than if a sister had been injured.

Mom and I sat silently in the waiting room adjacent to the emergency ward. Shelly had been in there over an hour and while we couldn't see her, we watched as both doctors and nurses went behind the curtains to examine her. None of them looked happy.

It was over two hours after they had brought Shelly into St. Joseph's Emergency when a solemn looking doctor approached my mother.

"Are you Miss Dawson's mother?" he asked.

"No ... she has no mother ... or relatives that we know about. She lives with us and works for us. What can you tell us?"

"She's had a concussion. Hit her head ... hard it would appear. Fortunately, there are no other major injuries other than some bruising. She's unconscious, but her vitals are stable so far. There's no indication of internal bleeding on the brain, but we can't be sure until we look at the x-rays. Right now, all we can do is wait until she wakes up."

"When will that be?" I asked anxiously.

He shook his head. "We have no way of knowing. It could be in a few minutes ... or ... hours ... or," he just shook his head again.

"Can we see her?" I asked.

"Not right now. We want her to rest, let the swelling subside and the head trauma stabilize. It's better if she is unconscious for now. It will give her a chance to heal. Perhaps tomorrow or Saturday," he said shrugging.

I sank back in the chair, my hands covering my face. I felt my mother's hand on my arm as I thought about what had happened. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do and it angered me that I was powerless to help Shelly. I stood slowly, helping mother up. We walked out to the parking lot and drove home, each lost in our own thoughts.

Mom phoned Mike and Duke and let them know what the current situation was. Jurgen was by her side as she spoke quietly, relaying the information the doctor had given us. There was nothing to do but wait ... and pray. The meal that night was almost silent, each of us thinking of the frightful consequences of Shelly's fall.

I was angry. I had guessed that Shelly had slipped on the same oil or fluid that I had. It was the most likely cause. But how did it get there? Did she spill something? We had been so careful to keep the stairs clean to prevent just such an accident and yet, it had still happened. I walked back to the station that evening, trying to burn off the anger and anxiety stored inside me.

I stood and stared at the pit. The offending fluid had long since been cleaned and the pit was clear once again. My anger wouldn't subside. The pit had to go. Suddenly, I recognized the steps were too steep and too shallow. I should have seen that before. How many times had Jurgen, Shelly, and others been up and down those steps? Why didn't I notice?

There was a solution, I knew. A hydraulic hoist. It would be safer, certainly. Who cared what it cost. One Shelly was worth ten thousand hoists. Why didn't I do this before? I slumped in my office chair, gutted. I had never experienced anything like this before. Even when my father died. At least I knew it was going to happen. But Shelly! My Shelly! The woman I was going to marry! No!

It was dark by the time I summoned the will to go home. I entered the house quietly. My mother and Jurgen were sitting on the sofa together holding hands and facing the television. I flopped down in the easy chair near them. The TV may have been on, but it was doubtful any of us could have identified the program we were supposedly watching.

Just after ten, I rose, said goodnight to my mother and Jurgen, and slowly climbed the stairs to my room. As I passed Shelly's room I stopped, looking at the empty bed and the empty room. It was then that it hit me, and tears began to flow. I slowly walked the remaining steps to my room, closed the door quietly behind me and lay down on the bed. This day could not end soon enough.

I awoke from a fitful sleep at my usual time on Friday morning, went though my usual morning routine, but without much energy. My mother and Jurgen were already in the kitchen and breakfast was almost ready. I sat quietly in my usual chair, sipping a glass of apple juice.

"Mom, Jurgen ... I'm going to get rid of the pit and put in a hydraulic hoist. I can't allow an accident like that to ever happen again."

Mom turned from the stove and looked at me silently. She nodded. "I'll call Ted. He'll know what we have to do."

"Thanks. Jurgen, I guess you and I will have to divvy up the work sheets to see what needs to be done. When Duke comes in, we can get together and decide how to keep things on schedule." I had spoken in a quiet, almost disinterested voice, but I'm sure Jurgen knew I was far from disinterested.

"It will be better today, Rod. I know this. We must carry on as if Shelly will be coming back soon. We can do this," he said with quiet confidence.

I looked up at the somber man and managed a smile.

"Thanks."

Jurgen was right. We could do it. It would take some overtime in the evenings and on Sundays, but we would be able to satisfy all our customers. The question remained however, how long could we keep this up?

I went to the hospital just before noon on Friday to check on Shelly's condition. The doctor we talked to yesterday was on duty. Dr. Parker Chamberton was the senior physician on the neurology ward. I had to wait several minutes before I could have a brief talk with him.

"Any change in her condition?" I asked, hoping.

"None, I'm afraid. She's resting comfortably, but there's no sign of her waking up yet. All we can do is wait and hope she'll come around soon. You should be able to visit her briefly tomorrow afternoon. We've moved her to a room this morning. Don't expect too much. You'll just have to be patient I'm afraid," he said sympathetically.

I nodded in understanding, thanked the doctor for his time, and left to return to the station.

I returned to the hospital Saturday afternoon exactly at 2:00 pm, when afternoon visiting hours began. I saw Shelly's name on the door of the single-bed room and walked in. She was sleeping peacefully, it seemed. On her back, her hands at her sides, a tube running to her arm from a stand and a bag of clear fluid. Another from under the sheets at her waist into a second bag at the side of the bed appeared to be urine.

I found a chair and sat beside her, my fingers touching her hand, stroking it gently.

"I'm here, Shelly. I hope you can hear me, babe," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere 'till you wake up." I was rocking back and forth in the chair without even realizing it.

"I've got a surprise for you when you wake up, Shelly. A big surprise. I can't tell you what it is until you're awake though. You have to wake up, girl. You have to or I can't give you your surprise." My eyes never left her face. I was looking for a sign ... any sign ... that she could hear me ... that she understood. There was none.

Mom walked quietly into the room as I was talking to Shelly. I'm sure she couldn't hear what I was saying, but maybe she could hear the intensity of my emotions in my voice. She put her hand on my shoulder, but I didn't respond, didn't acknowledge her. I was lost in my own world, talking to my girl, willing her to recognize me.

I continued talking to Shelly as if she could hear. I told her what was happening at the station. I told her that they would be replacing the pit with a hoist, and they would do it right away, before she even got back to work. I told her how upset I was that we couldn't go dancing that night as we had planned. I told her how much I wanted to hold her in my arms when we danced. I told her how much I loved her, and would always love her.

Mother sat quietly and listened to me pouring my soul out to this helpless girl, trying somehow to revitalize Shelly. I was blaming myself for the accident. I was taking the responsibility for what had happened.

Mother and I stayed for the entire two hour visiting period and only left when the duty nurse insisted upon it. We would return in the morning before going to church and again the next afternoon.

I hadn't been to church in some time. I had fallen out of the habit when I was in the army and when I returned home, I was too busy to allow myself the luxury of taking the time. But this was different. This time I had a purpose. This time, I wanted help. Help from someone ... God. There wasn't anyone else who could make a difference.

We visited the hospital on Sunday morning, but there was no change in Shelly's condition. She didn't seem any different from the previous afternoon. She was exactly in the same position and her face looked exactly the same. We left after forty-five minutes to get to church on time.

Word of the accident had spread throughout the community. In the ten months that our family had been in Bellingham, we had become known to our fellow citizens. Me, popular because I had made something happen that brightened the downtown, and Mom, who quietly and with great effectiveness, had taken the trouble to get to know her fellow townsfolk and business people. If Shelly was hurt, the Williamses were hurt. If the Williamses were hurt, the town was hurt.

Pastor Calvin Ford gave a special prayer for Shelly at the end of the service. Mom had held my hand throughout the service, squeezing it in surprise as the Reverend spoke the words of comfort. She looked at me and saw the tears streaming down my cheeks. I was in pain and the pain would not go away until Shelly recovered.

I pulled myself together as the service ended and Mother and I walked out into the warm noon sunshine. Pastor Ford thanked us for coming and said he would continue to pray for Shelly's recovery. More surprising were the members of the congregation who stepped forward to offer their best wishes. Most of them had never met Shelly, but if she was part of the Williams family, that was all that mattered.

The support and sympathy that we received that morning helped to bring me out of my misery. I wasn't alone, I realized. There were a lot of friends and neighbors who were praying for her to get well. As I looked around at the town I had chosen only a year ago, I thought that I had chosen well. This was a very fine place to live.

Promptly at two, I arrived at the hospital and went directly to Shelly's ward. She was there, still unconscious, still in exactly the same position as she had been earlier that morning, and the day before, and probably the day before that. I could see no change. I pulled my chair up alongside the bed and began to tell her about the service at the church and all the people who had wished her well.

Mom chose not to come with me. She wanted to give me my private time with Shelly. Let me say what I wanted to say without worrying about my mother being there to hear it all. When she arrived at three, I was sitting quietly, my hand gently grasping Shelly's, my eyes never leaving her face. Mom leaned over and kissed my cheek, knowing there was no need to ask if there was any change.

She stayed for a half hour, talking quietly with me. She excused herself to return home and begin the Sunday dinner preparations. She had invited Duke and his girlfriend, Shannon, for dinner that evening. The invitation was made before Shelly's accident, but Mom had assured the young man that the invitation still stood.

I nodded off briefly after mother left. I hadn't slept well since the accident, the tension and concern over Shelly wearing on me. I didn't immediately sense what was happening, but something woke me. I snapped myself upright and looked around. Shelly was still unconscious, but something had changed. I looked at her hand and saw it immediately. Her hand was moving, twitching. That hadn't happened before.

I ran out of the room and down the hall to the nursing station.

"Nurse, quickly, Shelly is moving. Her hand is moving."

"Who are you talking about?" the confused woman asked.

"Shelly Dawson ... she's in 14 B. She's been unconscious ... but her hand is moving."

The nurse picked up the phone: "Dr. Thorson, please call 410 ... Dr. Thorson, 410."

She replaced the phone. "The duty doctor will be along."

"What about Dr. Chamberton?"

"He's not on duty today. It's Sunday. Even doctors have a day off," she said sternly.

I was about to say something in retort when the nursing station phone rang. The nurse picked it up and said a few muffled words before hanging up.

"Dr. Thorson will be along when he's finished his rounds," she said.

"When will that be?" I asked, now beginning to lose my patience.

She looked up at the clock. "Twenty minutes or so. Depends."

I began to pace. It didn't seem to be important to them that someone looked at Shelly. But I knew if I caused a fuss, they would likely call someone to kick me out and that wouldn't help either. I bit my tongue, giving the sour nurse a look of disgust and began walking back to Shelly's room.

When I got back to her bedside, I noticed her arm was now across her hip. She had moved it. And her head had moved to one side slightly. Something was happening. Was she beginning to wake up?

I tried to get a grip on my emotions. I was excited and yet fearful. What could I do? Talk to her? Of course. Talk to her. Maybe now she could hear me.

"Shelly ... Shelly ... it's me ... Rod. Can you hear me, Shelly?" I began softly. "Can you hear me, Shelly? You moved a bit, Shelly. You moved your arm and your head. Did you know that? Shelly? You moved. That's a good thing, girl. That means you're going to be OK. Can you hear me, Shelly?" I was almost begging her to respond.

I looked at my watch. How long before the doctor arrives? I realized I was a bundle of nerves. I willed myself to relax. "Sit back and relax. Wait for the doctor. Close your eyes, breathe deeply ... and relax," I told myself.

"Roddy ..." came the faint voice. "Wake up, Roddy."

At first I thought it was a dream. I opened my eyes slowly and turned to Shelly. She was looking at me. Her eyes were open and she was looking at me. I leaped from the chair.

"Shelly! Oh god, Shelly, you're awake. Thank god." I leaned in and kissed her gently.

"Where am I?" she asked in a weak voice.

"St. Joe's. You had an accident," I managed in a strangled croak.

"An accident? What happened?" she asked, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"You fell in the pit. You hit your head and you were knocked out."

"I don't remember that. I don't remember anything."

"Relax ... rest. Don't worry about it. It's nothing you want to remember anyway," I smiled. I was breathing again. For the first time in days, I was alive. Shelly was awake and talking to me. She was going to be OK.