Chapter 4

It was a couple of days later after dinner — a Thursday, I think. Marty, along with Jim, Paul, and Maria were in the TV room watching something or other — a chick flick, I guess. I was in the kitchen talking to JJ who was puttering around with something or other. (If I didn’t mention it before, cooking was both her vocation and her hobby. She just loves it. I regularly tease her about all the food that was thrown away uneaten just so she could try out different recipes.)

The two of us were chatting — beyond her culinary ability, she’s a brilliant young woman and knowledgeable on a wide range of subjects — when we heard a quiet knock at the back door. I checked the clock and found it was almost nine. Who on earth would be coming to our back door at this time of night? I wondered.

JJ was equally puzzled, but she went to the back door and opened it. From where I was sitting at the breakfast table, I could see the door, and what I saw utterly amazed me. I jumped up from my chair and ran to join JJ.

There, standing at the door, was a young girl wearing, it seemed, only a black polyethylene trash bag with a hole torn in the bottom for her head. Both of us were utterly stunned; neither of us said a word.

Then the little girl said in a lovely but quiet voice, “Good evening, ma’am. Do ... do ... do you have anything I could eat?”

Hearing those words, I felt like my heart had just been ripped out. The girl was so winsome and yet so serious.

Before I could move a muscle, JJ had scooped up the waif, carried her across the kitchen, and gently set her down on a chair at our breakfast table. “Of course we do!” JJ finally said. “What would you like to eat?”

The girl’s eyes just widened. When they did, I realized they were the identical brilliant blue of Marty’s ... and my own. “Anything at all,” she finally replied very softly.

“How would an omelette be?”

“That would be wonderful,” the girl replied. A very puzzled look had passed quickly across her face, though. I was quite sure the poor thing didn’t know what an omelette was.

While JJ raced to put food together, I went into the TV room and told the others what was happening. It took only an instant and then the rest of us trouped back into the kitchen.

As usual, Marty was the first to fully grasp the situation. Without saying a word, she raced out to the library to call Robert Richards, the only doctor left in Virginia known to make house calls.

When she returned, she told me very softly that Rob would be over in about 30 minutes.

In just that very short time JJ had put together an utterly magnificent chicken liver omelette and placed it on the table in front of the girl. She was just sitting quietly with her hands folded in front of her on the table. When the food was placed in front of her, its aroma wafted up and I could see her nostrils flare as they caught the succulent scent. But she didn’t move.

“Don’t you want it?” I asked. “Would you rather have something else?”

“Oh no, ma’am!” she quickly replied. “I’m just waiting for you grownups to eat first, and then I’ll eat if there’s anything left.” With her eyes wide she looked at me and almost broke my heart as she added, “But it certainly smells delicious!”

That was more than Marty could take. She pulled out a chair, sat beside the child and cut into the omelette with a fork. Then she held it up to the girl’s mouth — in spite of her obvious hunger, her mouth was still closed — and said, “This is all for you. Please try it?”

The girl took the bite and her face lighted up. Marty handed the fork to her and she began to devour her food. But, I noticed, she ate very carefully and neatly in spite of being starved.

Quickly she finished the food and leaned back a bit in her chair. “That was so good!” she exclaimed.

But then I heard a sound coming from her digestive tract. Again her eyes flared and she exclaimed, “Oh, dear!” putting her hand over her mouth.

This time it was Maria who was the quickest. She lifted the girl from her chair, carried her to the sink and put her head over it. We all heard an awful-sounding rumble and her wonderful omelette came vomiting out.

Maria held her as gently as she could with one arm while using her other hand gently to caress the child and wipe away the sweat that had instantly appeared on her forehead. “It’s all right, child,” Maria murmured. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. Everything will be all right.”

The little girl had begun to cry. I was certain that she was crying from embarrassment, not from pain. “Jim,” I asked, “please carry her into the library and put her on the couch. Paul, could you get a nice warm blanket for her?”

Jim scooped the girl out of Maria’s arms as if she were weightless. In view of his incredible strength, I’m sure that to him she was. Paul disappeared in search of a blanket, while the rest of us followed Jim into the library.

JJ was berating herself. “What a stupid fool!” she exclaimed. “Any idiot would know that an omelette like that is far too rich for a starving child!” And by then it had become apparent to all of us that “starving” was an accurate description.

Jim had no sooner stretched the small girl out on the leather sofa when Paul reappeared with a light cashmere blanket and even a small pillow. With utmost tenderness he raised her head, positioned the pillow, then covered her still-plastic-covered body with the white blanket. Maria was right there beside him. As soon as he finished, she took a sharp knife, slit the plastic and carefully removed it from her body while still leaving her covered with the blanket.

“This is so soft ... and warm ... and wonderful!” the girl murmured.

“Hi, sweetie! My name is Maria. What’s your name?”

“My name is Melissa,” the girl replied softly, “but the truck driver who gave me a ride down here called me Missy and I like it better.”

“The big guy who covered you with a blanket is my husband, Paul. The bigger guy who carried you in here like a feather is James, and he’s married to Jane — or JJ — who cooked the omelette for you.”

Turning to me she said, “This is the wonderful woman all four of us work for. Her name is Catherine Smith. And this over-muscled one is her daughter, Martha.” Then Maria turned on an utterly brilliant smile and added, “Welcome to the Smith household, Missy. I certainly hope you will like living here with us.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Living here? With you? But ... but...”

Maria smiled warmly and just nodded her head.

“But where?” Missy asked. “This is the biggest house I’ve ever seen. In fact, I came here because I thought it was a hotel or something and ... and ... maybe I could get some food its restaurant was throwing out. But ... there’s not even a stable. Where could I sleep?”

Before anyone could reply, the doorbell rang and James went to open it. Moments later he returned leading Rob Richards into the library. Rob came complete with his black doctor’s bag. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa on which Missy was lying and introduced himself to her.

Missy began slowly to shake her head in negation. I moved closer and heard her say, “No, Doctor, you can’t. Doctors are expensive and I have no money at all.”

Before I could say anything, Rob looked up while trying to look thoughtful. “Hmm ... no money ... Well, we’ll have to try something else.” Looking deep into Missy’s brilliant blue eyes he said, “Instead of money, how about giving me a kiss? But it has to be a really good one. One that would make my wife really jealous. Could you do that?”

Paul had really done a good job. The blanket was up around Missy’s neck and only her head was showing. Her arms came out from under the blanket — I felt ill as I realized how thin they were — and wrapped themselves around Rob’s neck. She pulled him closer and lifted her torso off the sofa at the same time. Then she really unloaded. I was amazed to see from the movement of her mouth that she was probing his with her tongue. Slowly she eased away.

Dr. Richards sat back on his heels and I could see he was woozy. “Wow!” he murmured. Then he smiled and said, “That kiss was worth a full physical examination ... at least!”

At that point, JJ returned with a bowl of chicken broth and some additional pillows. She raised Missy up against the pillows and began feeding her the soup while Rob conducted his examination. He and the bowl of soup were finished at the same time.

While he had been conducting his examination, I had noticed that Maria had picked up her sketch book — it was never out of her reach — and was using pastels to do a drawing. As she was sketching, Rob had stood up and was talking with JJ, still visibly upset for causing Missy’s upset stomach.

The two were discussing Missy’s diet when we heard Rob say, “You certainly seem to know a lot about nutrition.”

“She should,” Maria commented dryly. “She’ll have her doctorate in the subject in just a few more months.” She hadn’t lifted her head from her sketch, though, as she spoke.

Suddenly, Rob’s eyes widened. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “JJ — Jane J ... That’s you, isn’t it? You’re the fabulous cook who’s on television. My God!” Then he laughed and said to Missy, “If JJ is cooking for you, you will be eating food prepared by possibly the world’s finest chef. Sweetie, she’s the very best!”

Missy just looked up at JJ in awe.

In the meantime, JJ had gone to the kitchen and returned with a pot of tea. She poured a mug, Rob gave the girl a pill to take, and Missy washed it down with some of the tea.

“What was that, Doctor?” I asked.

“That was an anthelmintic,” he replied. “In this case, it’s a broad-spectrum killer of parasites in the digestive system. I’m virtually certain Missy is carrying them. What I would like you to do is to wait a few days, then bring in a stool sample for testing. Then we’ll see if there are any left.”

Maria had disappeared for a few minutes. When she returned, she had her sketch pad and a can of fixer to spray the pastel she had just completed. The spray prevents the colors from running. She let it dry for a few moments and then very carefully tore the page from her book.

“Dr. Richards,” Maria said, “please accept this small token of our appreciation for coming out at night to care for the newest member of our family.”

I was standing beside the doctor as he took it from her. He looked at it and gasped. The picture showed the doctor standing by Missy who was lying on the sofa with the blanket top at her waist. The prominence of her ribs was clearly visible in the pastel. Above the picture she had written, “To Robert Richards, MD, the finest, most caring, most loving physician in the Commonwealth, from one of his most grateful admirers.” It was signed, “Mina.” And, as usual, in the bottom right hand corner of the sketch she had worked the name, Mina, into the picture itself.

“This ... this is utterly unbelievable! My God! This is...” Then he looked at Maria and said softly, “My lord! You’re... Mina!”

“I hope you like it, Doctor,” Maria said. “It’s from my heart.”

Richards appeared to be on the verge of shock. He fell more than sat in a leather lounge chair and just collapsed. “I don’t believe it!” he murmured as if he was talking to himself. “I just received a sketch from one of the world’s greatest living artists ... Unbelievable!”

“Do ... do you like it?” Maria asked diffidently.

“Like it?” he nearly screamed. “I adore it! First thing tomorrow I’m going to the best frame shop in town and have it matted and framed. And it’s going on my office wall as soon as it’s finished.”

“I’m amazed you’ve heard of me,” Maria said softly.

“Ask my wife, Judy,” Richards replied. “I have two loves: art and Mark Mitchell’s novels.” He brightened and added, “And there’s a new one due out the end of next week, too.”

Jim Johnson unobtrusively left the room.

Richards continued, “What an incredible household! The world’s finest chef and the world’s finest artist.” Then in a jocular tone he asked, “But what do the guys bring to the party?”

Instead of answering, Maria led him out to the foyer. On the wall beneath the staircase towards the back of the foyer was another Mina oil. She led Richards to it and just stood there. The painting showed two Navy first-class petty officers — Jim and Paul — in their dress white uniforms. Around each of their necks was a Navy Cross.

“Those ... those medals around their necks ... What are they?”

“That’s the Navy Cross, the second highest award for gallantry our nation can award. And if you know your ribbons, the first on the left on the top row is the Silver Star, the third highest. There are a couple of more for bravery and then there are Purple Hearts. Jim has three, while Paul has only two. He was better than Jim at keeping his head down.”