Eva of the Farm by Dia Calhoun

Author:Dia Calhoun
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

Old Man Woodstove

Old Man Woodstove

chortles and snorts

belching heat

from his hot full belly

that steams wet mittens

hanging on hooks—

that steams the wet dog

snoring on the rug—

that steams wet me

bringing in more wood

from the snow

to stuff in his greedy belly

that keeps us warm

all winter long.

The end of the Farm

begins with crying in the winter night.

Achilles.

Then coughing.

Achilles.

Then a fever of 103 degrees.

Achilles.

Then Mom and Dad and me

rushing off to the hospital

in Brewster.

Then Achilles flying

over the snowy Cascade Mountains

in a special plane with Mom

to Children’s Hospital in Seattle.

Oh, Achilles.

Lost

I find a nest

fallen from

the maple tree

where the robin

used to sing.

An empty nest

blown down by

the North Wind

where the robin

used to sing.

Bits of broken

blue shell

cling to the nest

where the robin

used to sing.

Dad and I drive through the steep darkness

for five hours

over two treacherous mountain passes

to catch up to Mom and Achilles

in the hospital in Seattle.

In the passenger seat of the truck,

I lie awake under a wool blanket,

watching

fat flakes of snow

smash against the dark window—

listening

to the click of the windshield wipers,

which seem to chant

streptococcus pneumonia

streptococcus pneumonia

over

and over

and over

until the words are beaten into my brain.

How can Achilles

fight something he can’t even say?

Weary, we stagger

into the hospital at last,

and find Mom huddled over Achilles’s bed

in the intensive care unit.

So many tubes stick out of him

he looks like an alien creature

from a science fiction movie,

a very pale alien creature

whose beautiful blue eyes are shut.

Even with the oxygen tube

his nostrils flare,

and his chest sinks

as he struggles to breathe.

Mom tells us the doctors think

he has something called sepsis—

a life-threatening complication

of streptococcus pneumonia.

“Don’t die, Achilles,” I whisper.

“Don’t leave us like Grandma Helen did.”

I can’t bear it,

cannot

bear

to lose

Achilles, too—

to have him be no more

than a memory—

to have the hole in my chest

rip

beyond

imagining.

Mom grips my shoulder

as hot tears glide down my face.

Dad grasps Mom’s shoulder,

and she places her hand over his.

They stand looking at each other,

looking and looking.

Then they are hugging,

hugging and crying.

I have not seen them hug in a long time.

Soon the nurse shoos us out

to the waiting room,

where I try to sleep on a couch.

Breathe, Achilles, I think,

breathe.

At last I do sleep.

Now and then I wake up

to see Mom and Dad drinking coffee

and speaking quietly together—

holding hands.

I wonder how close Chloe lives to the hospital—

when she will come.

In the afternoon,

Mom calls Mrs. Quetzal, Chloe’s mom.

They talk for a few minutes,

then Mom hands me the phone.

Mrs. Quetzal says,

“Hello Eva. I’m so sorry

to hear about Achilles. I’ll put Chloe on.”

I hear the sound of muffled arguing.

At last I hear Chloe’s voice.

“I’m sorry to hear about Achilles,”

she echoes her mom.

“Thanks,” I say. “Did you get all my e-mails?”

Chloe says, “I guess so. I’ve been pretty busy.

You know. School and friends and stuff.”

I ask, “Can you come to see us at the hospital?”

“No. My mom doesn’t want me near any germs.”

“Oh,” I say.

The silence stretches out like gum.

“Well,” Chloe stammers, “I’ve got to go now.”

“Wait!” I exclaim, because I have so much more

to say. “I miss you. And Camp Laughing Waters . ”

but she has already hung up.

A doctor pads by in her white coat

and sneakers.

Can she stitch up

the ragged hole in my chest?

We stay at the hospital for three days.

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