CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Aberdeen, South Dakota Howard’s Hotel and Dining Room Wednesday, November 12, 1918 We all met for breakfast in the dining room. Doc Anderson was already at the table drinking coffee. He looked terrible. He hadn’t been to bed all night. As we waited for the cashier’s mother to make our bacon and eggs, Doc Anderson related his tale of horror from last night. I have seen Doc Anderson deal with many deaths in his career in Lemmon, but I have never seen him as devastated as he was that morning. That picture will stay with me always. We scavenged what supplies we could from the businesses that would open for us and loaded Jimmy Christian’s body in the hearse. We found our mail sacks at the post office and we were on our way back to Lemmon by noon. We could hardly wait to get out of town. The ride back to Lemmon was quiet. We stopped a couple of times to change tires and have a snack. We didn’t talk much. There was really nothing much to say. We saw our future ahead of us in Aberdeen and we were all pretty scared. We got home just before midnight. We went to the church to give thanks for our families and pray that God might see fit to spare out town of the disease and death. Little did we know that our prayers were too late.   CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Lemmon, South Dakota Thursday, November 27, 1918 Thanksgiving Day When John Clarke first spoke to us about the influenza and the devastation it was causing, people were in a panic and dutifully wore their face protection when going outside their house. Now, after a month and a half with no indication that we were in danger of the influenza in Lemmon, wearing facemasks was slowly becoming less and less frequent. By Thanksgiving, two weeks after we arrived home from our trip to Aberdeen, no one was wearing face protection. We felt we were safe. The flu was subsiding in other parts of the nation and we gave thanks around our tables that day that we had been spared. Our family, and many other families in town, was host to our out-of-town relatives for this special Thanksgiving Day. Most of our homes in Lemmon were very large and we were used to accommodating large groups both for preparing food, serving food, and always had plenty of sleeping rooms available. Our guests included Katherine’s father and two of her sisters with their families. Our boarders, on the other hand, were spending time out of town visiting their relatives. We started out the day by taking everyone to Mass. We took up two pews for just our clan. The church was packed with townspeople and visitors. The weather was below zero again today and the church was tightly sealed up against the cold outside. A few coughs were always heard in the crowd each Sunday, and today was no exception. Everyone was very happy to be with his or her families and no one gave the flu any thought as we gave up our prayers. As we went to communion, the priest placed the Eucharist on the tongue of mouth, after mouth, after mouth. Again, not thinking of our health, we lingered after mass to talk with neighbors and meet their families. Mark walked Rose home. They had made plans to announce their engagement at dinner that day and were chatting away in the lukewarm sunlight. When we got back to the house, the turkey was done and Ilga had the side dishes ready for the feast. We gathered around the table, holding hands and giving thanks for our meal and for our families. After a time I looked at Mark and wondered when he was going to spring the big moment on us. Mark looked very embarrassed, his eyes looking down in his lap. I thought he might be a little intimidated from not knowing many of Katherine’s family, so I decided to intervene. I tapped my water glass with my knife. "May I have your attention?" With that, Mark’s eyes darted toward me. He turned red in the face and his eyes pleaded to stop. I winked at him and hoped he could tell it would be all right in a few moments. "We have something this year that we especially give thanks for. You have all met Mark, my apprentice and Rose’s special person. Well, I am very happy to announce to you all today that Mark and Rose are engaged to be married." There, I said it. A chatter of excitement went around the table. Katherine’s father, Michael Maloney, whacked Mark on the back nearly tossing him out of his chair. "Welcome to the family, boy," Michael said. "We know that Walt thinks highly of you and we are proud to have you as a member of our clan." The girls all giggled and Rose looked like she was going to be ill. She asked to be excused and ran to her room. Katherine went after her. After a time, Katherine and Rose returned. Katherine explained that this was all very new to us and we were still getting used to it. This is a very important and intimate time for Mark and Rose, but we all wanted the family to be part of the news. With that being said, the entire group rose and applauded. Rose leaned over the Mark and kissed him on the cheek. Mark leaned over to Rose and whispered, "I love you." "Now let’s eat. I am starved," I interrupted. "Mike, get the knife going on the turkey. Katherine, are you going to invite Ilga to join us?" Katherine smiled at me and dashed off to the kitchen. Mary Anne snickered under her breath, "Just don’t ask her to sing." I tried to kick Anne under the table, but she was too far away. I gave her the Kelley evil eye that sent her the message to watch her tongue. Ilga was happy to join us and luckily she had not heard the remark about her singing. After dinner, we all pitched in to clear the table and wash the dishes. The women disappeared into the kitchen to do whatever they do in there after dinner and the men and boys went into the parlor. Mark talked to us about his plans for the future after his marriage to Rose. He had planned to go to college but decided to stay working with me in Lemmon. He thought about taking a correspondence course, maybe in plumbing. He had been reading and discussing indoor plumbing with neighbors and the Mayor. There was a new septic system that would allow the plumbing to come indoors. In a town where the temperature never gets above zero for months at a time, the thought was particularly intriguing. That evening we all gathered in the parlor. Katherine led us in round after round of glorious song. The snow started falling about sundown and it seemed a lot like Christmas. We were all very happy that day. How could anything go wrong? If only we could just freeze this moment for my beautiful and happy family.   CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Lemmon, South Dakota Sunday, December 1, 1918 – Friday, December 13, 1918 It took only three days to change our community forever. By Sunday, when we waved the last family member good-bye on the train, the first victim of the influenza in Lemmon was coughing uncontrollably. It was Doc Anderson. He seemed fine when he got to the station, then without warning, as he was waving good-bye to his relatives, he turned and coughed. He continued to cough until he got to his house. His wife, Bridget, seemed to carry him on her arm steadying him against the coughing jags, stumbling under his weight. I was quite concerned about what was happening with the doctor. After seeing my family back home, I ran over to his house. By the time I got to him, he was flat on his back his face red with fever. I talked to Bridget. We were both stunned how fast Doc Anderson had been stricken. "Do you think it is the flu?" I asked him. "I never really knew anything to come on so fast. How do you feel?" "Go home, Walt," he gasped between coughs. "Yes, this is the influenza. I saw people in the hospital wards with the same symptoms. Tell everyone to stay away from me. Now go home." I backed up to the front door unable to take my eyes off Doc Anderson. Bridged stood by his side, helpless. I ran home to Katherine. "It’s here," I said as I held her tight against me. "What is here, darling?" she asked. Still holding her tight, I whispered the verse that the newspaper said was the playground favorite among the school children around the states, "I had a little bird, its name was Enza. I opened up the window, and in flew Enza." We froze in each other’s arms, unable to speak. When nurse, Margaret, arrived back from her Thanksgiving trip, I told her about Doc’s condition. She immediately went to his bedside. She stayed with Doc Anderson until he finally started to recover. Margaret came in that night and told us the worst was over for Doc Anderson. He seemed to be recovering from the flu before it advanced to pneumonia. Margaret thought he would fully recover. What a miracle. Margaret said it was nothing she did. "He is just such a cantankerous old man that he refused to die. He got so upset with me for coming over to help him he actually told me I was fired. I told him he couldn’t fire me because I quit. He was laughing so hard and coughing so hard, well, he actually seemed like a decent human being for once. I think he will be all right by morning. Now I am going to bed. We all should get a good night’s sleep. This is probably just the beginning of things to come. Good night." There were never truer words spoken than those of Margaret that night. Doc Anderson was only the first. He no sooner got up from his deathbed than it seemed the entire town came down with the flu at once. It was like a tornado had ripped through our little town. We had casualties everywhere—except our tornado was invisible. Except our tornado was a bird named Enza. Tuesday morning, bright and early, Mark and I went to Ernie’s to make caskets. Our supply had completely dwindled with our war fatalities and we needed a small supply on hand. In the back of my mind, I kept hearing the shop owner in Aberdeen telling how they ran out of caskets. When I got to Ernie’s funeral parlor, things were in a state of hysteria. While we were sleeping, several more of our townspeople had fallen ill with the flu. Some didn’t make it through the night. We had five dead bodies at the funeral home by the time Mark and I got there, two adults and three small children. Mark and I stood in amazement at the spectacle before us. Ernie was running around trying to comfort the families of the victims. The dead bodies were lying on the sofas of the furniture store waiting for someone to help them. There was, of course, no one that could help them anymore. Doc Anderson was there, a little worse for wear from his bout with the deadly flu, writing death reports as fast as he could. Mark and I quickly jumped in to help Doc Anderson carry the bodies to the preparation area. "Doc," I said. "We can’t possibly bury these bodies yet. Jimmy Christian’s grave was almost impossible because of the frozen ground. The daytime temperatures have been below zero since that day. The ground will be frozen several feet down. What will we do with the bodies?" Doc replied, "You are not going to like this very much, but with no other choice, we will just open up the window a bit in here and keep them in a make-shift cold storage. Ernie can have memorial services and we can bury the bodies when the ground warms." With little choice, we did just that. Ernie would embalm them quickly and put the bodies in the cool room. Mark excused himself and went downstairs. He had only seen dead bodies in caskets and never close-up, in real life (or death, as this would be). He continued outside and vomited in the snow bank behind the funeral parlor/furniture store that was quickly becoming a cold storage unit for corpses. After Ernie had things under control, he asked me to have Katherine call everyone in town to tell them the flu had indeed arrived in Lemmon. He also said he could go after bodies of those who do not make it if the survivors would give him a call. I took sheets of paper with the same message and tacked them up around town. His phone started ringing immediately. By the evening of December 6, 1918, twenty-four of our citizens had made their final trip to the Collier Funeral Parlor and Furniture Store. They were all in cold storage and the floor space was quickly filling up. Doc Anderson had his medicine bag full of salts of quinine and aspirin and spent his entire day and most of the night just going from house to house. He didn’t ask to be called; he went to every home because he knew he would find someone in each that needed his care. Mark and I spent most of our time at the store. We helped Ernie bring in bodies from his hearse. People were in a panic, but there was really nothing anyone could do to avoid the wrath of this terrible disease. Some citizens were making home remedies because conventional medicine was useless. Many, including Ilga, were brewing concoctions that really did little to dissuade the flu, but made everyone think they were helping. Some of the concoctions smelled so bad, it probably did help keep people away from each other, thus slowing the spread. Ilga made little balls of cotton-filled gauze dipped in camphor. She said she added a special ingredient. She wouldn’t share with us what that ingredient was, but insisted that we wear the little balls wherever we went. We did just because Ilga was so convinced they would help. Mark and I had seen the worst. We knew nothing would help. It was the week of December 8 of that horrible year that my life began to fall apart. Mark and I were working at Ernie’s shop when Mark suddenly felt ill and feverish. I held my breath. Not Mark—no, not Mark. So far my family had been out of harms way. Please God, not Mark. Mark sat on a chair in the furniture shop. He looked pale and was sweating profusely. I picked him up and carried him to Doc Anderson’s office. Doc was, of course, not there but Margaret was. "Please, Margaret, I am begging you. Do what you did for Doc Anderson. Make Mark well again." Margaret looked me square in the eye and I knew she couldn’t do anything more for him than I could. All we could do was to make him comfortable and pray for recovery. I carried him up the street to his house. Tears were streaming down my cheeks by the time I reached the O’Brien house. I banged on the door with my foot and Mark’s mother answered. She took one look at me and started screaming. That brought Mark’s father, Michael, to the door. He helped me pack Mark up the stairs to his bedroom. Marta, Mark’s mother, was hysterical. "My baby, my baby," she cried. "Walt, is he going to be all right? Is he dead?" She was crying into her handkerchief. After we got Mark into bed we tried to calm Marta. "Try to keep his fever down. Doc Anderson will be over to see him in a little while. Keep him drinking fluids. Water, juice, anything you can get down him. Use aspirin for the fever." I ran across the street to my house and told Katherine. Rose was at the drug store but would be home soon. Katherine said she would talk to Rose. Ilga had heard me come in and had a sandwich for me. I ate it as I walked back to Ernie’s. "How’s the boy?" Ernie asked. "Is he going to be OK?" "Ernie, if anything happens to Mark, I think I will die. I love that boy. And Rose, poor Rose, she will be devastated. I am very worried about all of us Ernie." "Go home, Walt," Ernie said. "Go home and take care of your family. The deaths have subsided for a little bit and I am going to try to get some rest." "Thank you, buddy," I replied. "I think I will do that. You never know when the next victim or even who the next victim will be. I just wish there was really something I could do." I slowly walked home as the sun was reaching the evening sky. There was a big sign on the church lawn that said there would be no church services on Sunday. Mayor Christian had banned all social gatherings. That included church services. It was just as well, it didn’t seem that prayers were working anyway. I rounded the corner to see Rose rush across the street to the O’Brien house. I decided to stop there before going home. Rose was at Mark’s bedside. Mark was failing fast. His fever was raging and he was delirious. "Don’t you know who I am?" Rose pleaded. "Please, Mark, talk to me." Mark flung his arms in the air. He was swatting at something unseen by the rest of us. His yells were gibberish and no one could tell if he was in need of something or just flailing about. Rose kept cold compresses on Mark’s forehead refreshed from the bedside washbasin. She was devastated as we all were. I pulled Mike out of the room. "It doesn’t look good, Mike," I whispered. "How is his cough? Is he coughing up anything?" "He goes in coughing fits," Mike answered. "No pattern. Just seems to fill up and then cough out. He has been splitting up some blood but I thought maybe he had broken a blood vessel because he was coughing so hard." "Well, Doc Anderson should be here anytime now. I don’t think you will get Rose away from his bedside. Is it all right if she stays with him? They may not have much time left together." "Of course, Walt," he answered. "Rose is the daughter we never had. We love her as much as you love Mark. She can stay with him as long as she wants. Do you think he will make it through the night?" "It’s hard to tell. Doc Anderson was just as sick and he came through with excellence. Then others, like Gordon and Janice down the street, they went very fast. There is no reasoning with this flu. You just can’t predict. Keep praying, Mike," I added—even though in my heart, I knew praying wouldn’t help either. By the next morning Mark O’Brien, my friend, apprentice, and Rose’s intended had passed on to heaven. Rose would not leave Mark’s bedside, even after he was pronounced dead. She held onto his hand, her forehead resting on the bed beside his body. I didn’t have the heart to take her away from him. He looked so peaceful. His skin was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. You would never have guessed he had been so sick just 24 hours ago. Now he was gone—gone forever. I left Rose at his side. In order to give them more time together, I walked to Ernie’s rather than call him to pick up the body. Ernie had been out on another call that day, picking up three more bodies. We looked at each other and no words needed to be said. He turned to start emptying out the hearse. I helped carry them to the storage room. "When is it all going to end, Ernie?" I said angrily. "Why doesn’t it just go away?" "Walt, I don’t think it will end for some time. Everybody I pick up has several more people in the household who are in various states of the disease. I am running out of room in the prep area. We need to do some arranging here on the main floor to get more bodies in. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever thought my funeral home would be like this." "I know what you mean. This is so unreal. I talked with Margaret. She is starting a hospital of sorts in Doc Anderson’s office. So many people have been coming to them for help that she thought opening beds up would somehow help. That is about all she can do. I don’t know when Margaret or Doc Anderson slept. They have been on the go for weeks now. And you, poor Ernie, having to deal with all this death at once—and no place to bury them. "Do you want to come with me to pick up Mark?" Ernie asked. "Yes," I said. "Rose is with him and I need to take her home. I will meet you at Mark’s." I walked into the sunshine. It was bitter cold, but I wore no coat. I don’t think I could even feel the cold. I was still numb from pain. The clouds were forming up a snowstorm in the west. I knew by morning, we probably would have another couple inches of new snow. Somehow, it really didn’t matter any more. I had lost a very dear friend today and I was sick inside. By the time I got back to the house, Michael and Marta O’Brien had taken ill with the cough. Michael was sitting up in a chair covered with a quilt. Marta had taken to her bed. Rose was still at Mark’s side. When I came in she calmly kissed his cheek for the last time and I escorted her to our house. Michael O’Brien was so ill I told him I would be back to bank his furnace later. I walked Rose to her bedroom. She closed the door and didn’t come out that evening. Ilga took a tray of food to her but retrieved it that night completely untouched. I didn’t much like my life right then, but I had responsibilities to my family and neighbors. I took the rest of that evening going around my block to see who needed help. Everyone in every house had someone sick. I took care of the furnaces of my immediate neighbors, banking them down for the night. I would be back the next morning to stoke them up for the day. I would continue doing this until someone in the house was well enough to do it for him or herself. Every night I took juice and water to the sick. I refreshed the compresses on their burning brows with cool water. Each burning body was grateful that I was looking in on them. Back at my house, the schoolteachers had left to help the sick at Margaret’s temporary hospital over the pharmacy. Because of the Mayor’s orders, school had closed down until after the New Year. The classes were only half full of children anyway, the rest were home ill or taking care of someone who was ill. Rose was still in her room. No light came from under the door. I was hoping she would sleep. That night as I lay in my bed thinking about all the horror that was engulfing our town, I heard the dreaded cough. I sat up in bed trying to tell where it was coming from. I put on my robe and went into the hall. Cough, cough. It was coming from Anne’s room. I opened the door. I went to her bedside and sat down beside her. She was moaning and burning up with the fever. I ran back and woke Katherine. She woke Ilga and we took our precious Anne to the kitchen tub where Ilga and her mother soaked her hot little body down with cool, wet rags. The house was chilly, so I descended the stairs to the basement and stoked up the furnace, filling the hopper with coal. This was going to be a long night. Katherine and Ilga held vigil the entire night around Anne’s bed. Anne never regained consciousness. Her spiked fever had rendered her in a comatose state. She died before the sun came up the next morning. Katherine and Ilga tended to the tears and mourning of the other children while I carried little Anne’s body to Ernie’s. When he saw me coming up the street, he opened the store door. His face was ashen and he was trying not to sob uncontrollably. I was doing enough of that myself. My body was racked with grief as I carried my little Anne’s body to rest with the other fallen victims. "The only good thing about this treacherous disease is Anne never knew she was sick. It was that fast. She never knew what hit her." I gave up her body to Ernie. "Go home, Walt," he said. "I will take care of her. She will not be with the others. I will put her in the parlor with me. Go home and take care of your family." I slowly walked back to the house. I really didn’t want to go inside—I knew what would be waiting. Everyone wanted answers from me. How could this happen? When will it stop? How can we take much more of this, Walt? I had no answers. I couldn’t even fake an answer. I didn’t know what to say to my family. One the way back I stopped at my neighbors to stoke their furnaces and take them juice and aspirin. Everyone except the O’Brien’s had made it through the night. Michael and Marta O’Brien had joined their son in death that morning. I knew as I walked into the house that Michael and Marta were dead. I could just feel it. There was not a sound coming from their bedroom. I looked in to see them in a peaceful sleep, an eternal sleep, holding hands and fully dressed. They had known they had little time left. I called Ernie to pick up the bodies. I then left for home. I was tired physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I thought that nothing could affect me any more. I could take anything that was thrown my way. I was dead inside. We mourned as a family that day, planning a small memorial for Anne. While we were in the parlor doing our planning, our live-in lawyer, Tim Horton, came home from work early. He didn’t announce himself and went straight to his room. That night we missed Tim at the dinner table. I sent Helen up to see if he was coming down to eat. Little Anne’s chair sat empty. My heart still ached when I saw that empty chair. Rose’s chair also sat empty. Ilga had taken her a tray, but as every meal was delivered, it was also returned untouched. I was getting quite worried but Katherine said she had it under control. She was working with Rose to at least get her to drink some fluids. I could only hope that Rose would come back to us. I knew little Anne never could. Mary Helen knocked at Tim Horton’s door. She did not see a light under the door. She slowly opened the door and called to him. After hearing no answer, she stepped into the room. The blinds were closed and the room very dark. The light from the hall cast her shadow into the room. She stepped aside to allow the light to penetrate the blackness. There before her, lying on the bed was Tim. He was very still and Mary Helen went over to him. "Mr. Horton," she whispered. "Mr. Horton, are you coming down to eat dinner?" She laid her small hand on Tim’s shoulder. He was still dressed in his suit and tie from work. He looked like he was just resting after a hard day, but Mary Helen backed off and ran down the hall to the stairs. She yelled down for us to come quickly. I heard the scream, "Mommy, Daddy, come quickly. Something is wrong with Mr. Horton." All of us rose and ran up the stairs. I turned on Tim’s light and we slowly approached his body. I could tell from his color that he was dead. His lips were blue. There was a spot of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Another drop of blood lay in his nostrils. I turned and herded the group out into the hall. "Katherine, take the children downstairs. Call Ernie and tell him we have a body to pick up." Katherine gasped and her hand went over her mouth. "Is he . . .?" She trails off in a sob. I finished her sentence, "dead," I said. "Yes, he is dead. Get the children out of here and call Ernie, please." "But, Walt," she cried. "He wasn’t even sick. He was fine this morning. How could he be dead? "He must have not been feeling well and just didn’t want us to know. He must have come in here after work some time and died. I didn’t even hear him come in. How could we be so self-absorbed? How could we not know?" "Don’t berate yourself, Katherine," I held her. "He obviously didn’t want us to be burdened with caring for him. He probably thought he could care for himself." I looked down at Katherine’s grieving face. "We have to stay strong for the children. Please—go call Ernie. Do we have any numbers for Tim’s relatives?" "I think so," she finally answered. "I have his application on file somewhere. I’ll go check and make some phone calls. "Walt," she continued. "I am so scared." I kissed her forehead. It seemed a little warm. Was this my imagination, my paranoia, or my greatest fear? "Are you going to be all right?" I asked with concern, more for her health than her concern over Tim. "Yes," she sobbed. "I want this to all go away, Walt. Can’t you make it all go away?" She buried her face in my jacket. Oh, Katherine, I thought. I have wanted that since the day Mark died. I kissed her forehead once more and was convinced now that she was indeed becoming very warm. Please, please—I can’t lose Katherine and what about the baby? "Katherine," I said. "Why don’t you go get the phone calls made and then go lie down for awhile. You have been through a lot these past few days. You need to rest, too." I patted her bulging stomach that carried our new baby. "All right, dear," she answered. "I don’t feel all that well. I will get the children ready for bed and get the phone calls made. I do think I will go to bed early tonight." She turned to descend the stairs. She turned back to me with those beautiful green eyes and said, "I love you, Frederick Walter Kelley." "I love you too, Mary Katherine Maloney Kelley," I answered. "Now, go take care of you and our new child." She lovingly caressed her stomach where her new baby quietly lay. She slowly stepped downstairs and I returned to Tim’s body. "I am sorry, Tim," I told the corpse. "I am sorry we couldn’t help you. I understand not wanting to bother us with your being sick. I am not sure we could have even helped you had we known, but I respect your request to your privacy. Good-bye, dear friend. You were a good man." That being said, I covered his body with a quilt and went downstairs to wait for Ernie. Katherine was still on the phone when Ernie arrived. We carried the body to the hearse. The night sky was as black as coal. Clouds had rolled in before dark and the wind was starting to blow. No doubt snow was on the way before morning. Friday—Friday the 13th. It couldn’t have been a more apropos day. After putting Tim’s body in the hearse, Ernie turned to me. "Walt, I need your help. I know you have had more than your share to deal with, but I got a call from Mrs. O’Flannery. Shawn is dead. I need to go after the body and I would like you to come along. Could you help me?" "Without question my good friend," I answered. "The O’Flannery’s live 10 miles out. It is blacker than black out there. I would be more than happy to help you get the body. I’ll go tell Katherine." Katherine said she would be in bed soon and I was certainly obliged to help out my best friend. I kissed her again on the forehead. She seemed a little cooler. Maybe it was just my imagination. Maybe I was looking for the flu instead of the flu looking for me. I had to shake this off. I had to stop acting like it was lurking around every corner, yet that is exactly what it seemed to be doing. We dropped Tim’s body at the funeral home and added his corpse to the many piled up in cold storage. "We are at 124 bodies now, Walt," Ernie said with little compassion. "I am so stunned by all this—I am completely devoid of any emotion." "I know exactly how you feel," I added. "It is so surreal that you expect to wake up any moment and find it was all a dream." "There is one thing, Walt," he cautioned. "I have been finding an alarming correlation. It didn’t dawn on me at first, but in looking at the log of bodies coming in, there are a very high percentage of our pregnant women who have become ill and died. I know that it doesn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to this flu, but with the exception of Gilly Summers and Katherine, every pregnant woman in this town is dead." I looked at Ernie as I felt the blood drain from my face. I quickly flashed back to the loving kiss I planted on Katherine’s forehead. I remembered the warm forehead of my beloved Katherine. "Why don’t you use the telephone to call her to see if everything is all right before we go out of town," Ernie said. Was it so obvious? Was my concern so obvious? "Well, she did seem a little tired, but I thought it was just the stress of losing Anne and Tim. I think I will check in on her." While Ernie readied the hearse, I rang up Katherine. Ilga answered to say that Katherine had already retired for the night. I asked Ilga how Katherine felt. "Well sir, she was just a little tired," Ilga said. "I think she has really not had enough time to mourn little Anne before she was hit with Mr. Tim’s death. I think she will be better after a good night’s rest." "Thanks, Ilga," I said. "I don’t know what we would do without you. Are you feeling all right? We are all so busy with our own problems, sometimes we forget too ask about others." "Oh, I am fine, sir," she answered. "I am an old horse, you know." She laughed. It sounded good to hear someone laugh for a change-real good. Somehow talking to Ilga had lifted my spirits. Katherine was indeed entitled to be tired and grieving over little Anne. I was just becoming paranoid. Maybe things were becoming better. Maybe all we needed was a little laughter and this would all go away.   CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Lemmon, South Dakota Friday, December 13, 1918 After the glimpse of laughter Ilga had provided me over the telephone, I felt in a better mood. Joy was something I had not felt for some time. Joy was something I would not feel anytime in the future, but the laughter seemed to do something for me that I could not explain. Maybe it was hope. The drive to the O’Flannery farm was very uncomfortable. We jostled and poked through the snow. We were thrown from side to side, front to back in our seats. I felt like I was on a carnival ride. The promised snowstorm had arrived and we were trying to wipe the snow off the windows as quickly as they became covered, the inside and outside crusting over with ice. Ernie’s weak headlights were only good to see five feet in front of the hearse on a bright night, so with the snow swirling around, visibility was near zero. Snow drifts against the fences were piled 12 feet high, some of the drifts encroaching onto the highway. Once we stopped at a snowdrift that was directly in the path of our vehicle. Ernie looked at me quizzically. "Should I just plow through it, or should we get out and see exactly what it is?" "It could be an abandoned car or something. We probably should get out and look at it." About the time those words were out of my mouth, the snowdrift moved slightly. Ernie and I looked at each other. Ernie pulled up closer so the headlights were now within three feet of the snowdrift. The drift moved again. Ernie honked his horn. Then the snow flung off the top of the drift and the drift started moving across the road. As the drift moved, we saw the outline of a cow that apparently had stopped in the road and was then covered by the snow. Ernie chuckled, "Well, I’m glad I didn’t try to plow through that." "Yes, that would have been quite a surprise," I answered. "It would also have been a long walk home." We were very close to the O’Flannery’s house after an hour on the road. Ernie swung the lights of the hearse into the O’Flannery driveway. As the lights swung over the front porch of the house, we could see a light in the window. A curtain that had been pulled back suddenly flung shut. Ernie and I, crouching down against the storm, proceeded to the porch expecting to go inside to retrieve the body. What we didn’t expect, greeted us at the front stoop. There, just out of the falling snow, sat Shawn O’Flannery in his over-stuffed chair. Ernie and I looked at each other. "Shawn?" Even though I knew he was dead, I shouted at him thinking that somehow he had come back to life and was sitting out here on his chair. "Shawn?" I yelled again, the wind blowing my words back at my face. Ernie pulled on my arm. "Good grief, Walt," he said. "Shawn is dead all right; he must have died in his chair. They just carried his chair, body and all, outside." Ernie reached up to touch the body. "He is frozen solid, Walt." I had seen a lot of things in the past few weeks, but putting a body out in the freezing weather in the chair he died in, was a first. Somehow the whole scenario seemed so ridiculous that I started to laugh. Have you ever been in church when you were young and something made you want to giggle? And it seemed the harder you struggled to suppress that giggle the harder it was to keep from laughing. Ernie, sensing my laugh release, started to giggle also. "What are we going to do with him?" Ernie asked. "I have never tried to carry a body that was not in the prone position." He stifled another giggle. Wiping my eyes, I answered, "Well, Ernie, old pal, I guess we just pick up the whole thing, body and chair. We can sit him in the back. He is frozen in the sitting position and I can’t think of any other way, can you?" "I guess it’s as good as any answer, Walt," Ernie said. "You take one arm of the chair, and I will take the other." We picked up poor frozen Shawn O’Flannery, in his final resting chair and placed him in the back of the hearse. The entire ride back to town was as uncomfortable as it was going out. We were jostled and thrown around inside the hearse, except now we had Shawn O’Flannery’s body falling forward on us, almost as if he were jumping out of his chair. Every bump forward he came flying, still in his sitting position, still frozen, on top of us. I kept pushing his body back into the chair. I couldn’t help myself at that point. I was laughing so hard I was weak. Ernie was not finding this as funny as I was, but I was laughing enough for the both of us. "I would have brought a rope had I known the circumstances," he quipped. "We could have tied him down to his chair." Just as Ernie said that we hit a big hole. The hearse bounced forward bringing with it Shawn’s body. Shawn’s head crashed into the dashboard with a loud thud. "Walt, you have to do something," he yelled. "OK, Ernie, I will try to do something." It was obvious that Ernie was becoming very upset. I was trying to contain my laughter, but found it hard to do so. I thought I was going to burst, but I kept stifling the chuckles as much as possible. I crawled into the back of the hearse to try to arrange the chair so Shawn was wedged in and not falling out. The sides of the hearse were soft leather curtains and I tried to fashion wedging him somewhere behind my seat and the tied-down curtains. I then jumped back into my seat. "You know," I choked down my laughter. "We are going to have to thaw him out before we can put him into a casket." Ernie looked at me in horror. It was at that point that two weeks of death, disease, and dead bodies came to a climax. We broke out in such laughter that Ernie had to stop the hearse. We laughed and laughed so hard we both had to step outside to make yellow snow.   CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Lemmon, South Dakota Home of Walter Kelley Sunday, December 15, 1918 Sunday always started with Mass at our Sisters of Lemmon Catholic Church. Not going to mass on Sunday was foreign to us and we wandered around the house that day as though we were in search of something, but didn’t know exactly what it was. The banning of social gatherings seemed like a good idea until you wanted to do something that was no longer legal. Then it seemed like an invasion of freedom. We seemed to fill the day with music in the parlor, reading, and generally enjoying each other’s company. The voids in our life were still very apparent. The emptiness that Anne left in our family could never be filled. The music without Tim’s violin seemed incomplete. We clung onto each other that day, clung on against the demon outside, keeping each other safe from harm. Then the phone rang. It was for Ernie. We knew it was another body. After his call, Ernie asked to talk to me in the hall. "Walt," Ernie said quietly. "That was Dale Summers. Gilly is dead." He stopped to measure my reaction. "Walt, she and Katherine were the only two pregnant women left alive. Now it’s only Katherine." I couldn’t speak. My mouth was open, but I couldn’t speak. The enormity of the situation suddenly hit me. It was like a death sentence. If Ernie’s hypotheses were correct, it was not if Katherine were going to die, but when. I slowly walked into the parlor where Katherine was playing her beautiful music. The children were singing and even allowed Ilga to sing with them. As always, Ilga had her enormous arm wrapped around her favorite, Mary Helen, as they sang. I must have looked like I had just seen a ghost when Katherine stopped playing and asked with mounting horror, "What is it, Walt? What has happened?" I announced to the group that Gilly Summers was dead. You think that each day as our town was slowly dying one by one you would get used to the calls. But each death was a blow to the community that reverberated through the citizenry much like the rings in a pond from a thrown pebble. Katherine jumped from her piano bench. "I’ve got to go to Dale. He must be devastated. Their baby was overdue and they were so anxious. Did they save the baby?" "No," I answered. "The babies are dying with the mothers." She looked at me with sadness in her eyes. Then anger. "How many others?" she demanded. "Almost all the others," I spoke softly under my breath. I didn’t want to tell her that she was in jeopardy. I tried to soften the news. "Are you telling me, Kelley," she started sharply. "Are you telling me that almost all the other pregnant women in town have gotten sick and lost their babies?" I couldn’t keep it from her much longer. She was starting to panic and I didn’t want to make her any more upset that I already had. "No, Katherine, they haven’t gotten sick and lost their babies. The women and their babies are dead." I left it laying there, hanging in mid-air. It didn’t appear that Katherine had either heard me or maybe couldn’t comprehend what I had just told her, but she turned toward the door as she swept her coat off the rack. "I’m going to see Dale," she blurted out. I took hold of her arm and whirled her around. Her green eyes were flashing. I have never seen her so determined, so angry. "You can’t go," I pleaded. "You must stay here and take care of yourself." She lashed out at me screaming and hitting my chest. I held her as tight as I could. She relented into my arms and cried herself into submission. "Walt, what will happen to us? What will happen to us if I die? And our new baby who hasn’t even seen daylight yet. This is not fair, Walt. This is not fair," she sobbed uncontrollably. "I am not going to let anything happen to you. I am going to keep you safe and alive. You are not going to die, I won’t let you." I believed what I was saying, but I knew in my heart that I was completely powerless over what was to come, what was to be. That Sunday night, after all the music was stilled, after the dinner dishes were done, Ilga suddenly became ill. Katherine whisked her off to her bed. Mary Helen, now terribly upset, anxiously waited in the hall for her mother and news of Ilga. Katherine came out of Ilga’s bedroom and Mary Helen knew from the look on her mother’s face that Ilga was very sick. "Can I go in to see her?" Helen asked. "Can I go in to say good-night?" Katherine, knowing the close relationship between Mary Helen and Ilga, reluctantly relented. Helen slowly proceeded to Ilga’s bedside. Ilga was coughing profusely. She was burning up with fever. Helen talked with her for a little. Ilga was so ill that Helen was not sure if she knew she was there beside her. Katherine joined Helen and the two kept cold compresses on Ilga’s head. They fed her as much juice as she could swallow. At midnight, Helen had fallen asleep next to her favorite housekeeper. I gently carried her into her own bed and covered her with quilts. She and Ilga had been so close since that day at the swimming hole. I looked up to the heavens, angry now, more than ever. How could this happen? How many times had I said that same question in the past month? Why am I not getting any answers? I brushed back Helen’s hair from her small round face. I wish I could protect you from what is to come, my darling, I thought. I wish I could protect you from what is happening but the truth is I cannot. I cannot protect my own family and it is killing me inside. Now rest my little one. Rest and prepare for what is ahead. I remember Ilga’s telephone conversation a few days ago when she said she was a horse and too strong to become a victim of the flu. She was a strong woman, and healthy as one could possibly be, and she held on to life for two days. When she didn’t die quickly, we thought she had a chance. Then without warning, Monday afternoon she took a turn for the worse. Her fever spiked so high that her hair fell out in clumps. Her lungs filled with fluid so fast she barely had time to tell Mary Helen good-bye before she passed on. Mary Helen was at her side the entire day on Monday. Helen nursed and cared for Ilga reverently. She couldn’t have been in better hands. But some things are just beyond human capabilities. Mary Helen also knew there was nothing else she could do for Ilga. Ilga raised her head to whisper between coughs, "Good-bye Mary Helen, I love you." She then laid back and breathed her last. Mary Helen cried loudly for Ilga not to leave. "You can’t leave me, Ilga." But Helen knew she was dead. She cried and cried, but Ilga could not come back. Katherine left Helen with Ilga and called Ernie. Ernie was surprised at the news as he thought, like everyone else, that Ilga was on the road to recovery. He said he would be right over. Katherine gently lifted Helen from Ilga’s bedside and escorted her to the parlor. "You stay in here while I prepare her for Ernie. I am so sorry, Helen. I know how deeply you felt for her." With that Katherine cleaned Ilga and her bedroom for the last time. Katherine gulped back a cough. She thought it was just the stress, the stress of too much death and sorrow. But she coughed again. She felt her head. A little warm but nothing to worry about, she thought. Ernie came and took Ilga to the body storage. Helen sat in the parlor still in the same position as Katherine had left her. "Come my dear," she held Helen’s hand. "Come into the kitchen with me. We need to start dinner. We need to carry on. We need to be brave." That night at the dinner table Katherine excused herself several times to retreat to the kitchen. I thought it was just because Ilga was not there to help her out, but then I heard her coughing. My stomach clenched. I felt bile rising in my throat. I slowly rose from my seat. I didn’t want to disturb the children and our schoolteachers. I silently walked to the kitchen door and gently pushed it open. Katherine was bending over the sink. She had pumped cold water to splash on her face. She was holding her sides as she coughed up phlegm. I came up from behind her and slowly turned her around. There was a shear look of panic in her eyes. The cold water was dripping down her chin and dropping onto her apron. I picked up a tea towel and gently wiped her face dry. "How long?" I questioned. "It just started this evening, after Ilga died. I thought it was just the stress and all, but now I don’t know. It seems to be getting worse. Do you think I have the influenza?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer. I felt her head. She most definitely had a fever and the cough had developed rapidly. I sat her down at the table in the kitchen. I found aspirin and juice. "Here, drink this. Maybe it will make you feel better," I said. Feel better? Come on, Walt; get a grip. Your wife has the flu. She is pregnant. All pregnant women in this town are now dead. Feel better? We were in complete denial. "Thank you," she whispered between coughs. "I already feel better knowing that you will take care of me. I think I will go lie down for a bit. Don’t say anything to the rest until we are sure it is the flu, all right?" "Of course I won’t, dear. I won’t say anything until you want me to. Do you need me to help you to your room?" I asked. "No, honey," she answered. "I will just slip through the back hall and no one will know I am even gone. I am sorry to leave you with this mess in the kitchen, but without Ilga, I seem totally lost. I didn’t realize how much I depended on her. Don’t worry about me. I will be fine in the morning." Katherine planted a kiss on my cheek. I grabbed her and hugged her for the longest time. She finally asked for me to release her, she couldn’t breathe. I reluctantly let her go. I stared at her long, golden hair as she passed through the back hall, still coughing. I tried to compose myself and return to the dining room. I grabbed a bowl of biscuits as an excuse for going into the kitchen. I returned to the silence of the room where all eyes were upon me as I sat down. "Has Mommy got the flu?" Rose asked. They were all collectively holding their breath. "She is just not feeling well tonight. She will be fine in the morning," I lied. "Rose, can you play us some songs on the piano tonight. I think Ilga would really like it if we had some sort of a wake in her honor. And you know how Ilga loved to sing." "I would be happy to Daddy," Rose answered. Mary Helen’s eyes filled with tears. Her chin quivered and her nose sniffled. "It won’t be the same without Ilga." "No, darling," I said. "Nothing is ever going to be the same again. We all have lost too much."