One Good Deed

Brenda Lee was singing "I'm Sorry" and Nana's bridge game was winding down along with the sun when John Sullivan came striding up the front path, carrying my youngest brother in his arms and shouting.  Donnie had fallen off the breakwater and crashed into the pilings, rendering himself fully unconscious and nearly drowning in the icy water before John and Jacob reached him.  He came to, sputtering and choking on sea water, lips faintly blue with cold and drenched to the skin, just as John reached the side steps.

Mother of God!  my grandmother exclaimed, Upstairs, John!  Into the bath tub!

Still fully dressed, Donnie was thrown into hot water while Aunts Pearl and Vi scurried for towels and hot water bottles and Clara and John began to strip him down.  Nana fluttered, her usual calm and collected self in shreds while she searched frantically for the brandy bottle - I'd never seen her panicky before and it was something of a shock.  By the time Donnie had been warmed up, dried off, and put to bed under a mound of blankets, the house was filled with concerned friends and neighbors and John and Clara, still upstairs, were in the midst of an explosive argument - snatches of it, primarily Clara's side, were clearly audible.

Oh, yes, you will, John Sullivan or I'll know the reason why!  Clara's tone was as clear as well water and sharp as a butcher knife.  And when I say every stitch, I mean EVERY STITCH!  There was a brief pause and then You ain't got nothin' I ain't seen a time or two ....followed by an impatient and unladylike curse and then By God, man, you ain't going out without a hot bath and dry clothes and I ain't gonna argue 'bout it no more....now you shed those wet things or I'll do it for you!

At the bottom of the stairs, Miss Hilda stood ramrod straight in her tweed jacket and genuine jodhpurs, looking all the world as if she were headed for a foxhunt.   After several minutes she sighed mightily and slapped her riding crop against her boot with a crisp thwack! and then climbed the steep stairs, mindful to duck her head at the overhang.  Her boots clicked sharply with every step and then we heard her rap on the bathroom door.

Mr. Sullivan, she announced primly in her customary and clipped British accent, One good deed and all that, I fear.  I strongly advise you to disrobe and surrender your wet garments at once.  We are fully prepared to take them by force if needed.

Except for the impatient and steady thwack! thwack! thwack! there was a sudden silence as we gathered near the bottom of the stairs and strained to hear.

Come, John, Hilda continued, changing tactics abruptly and letting just a hint of entreating into her voice, Let's not quarrel.  Do be a good fellow and just pop in and out for a quick scrub.  Jacob's brought fresh clothes and dry boots and Alice has tea waiting.

When it came, the reply was deafening and nearly set the walls to trembling.  ALLRIGHT!  John Sullivan roared furiously and I was reminded of a bad tempered lion.  A door opened and slammed shut, nearly whisking Clara off her feet and into the hallway where she came perilously close to colliding with Hilda.  ALLRIGHT!  John shouted again, WOMAN, LEAVE ME BE!

And John, Clara added sweetly, Unless you're allergic, there's a little thing called soap...... and then both women hurriedly descended the stairs, laughing together and just barely in time to avoid a pair of heavy, wet, and airborne boots.

My brother was up and around the following day with no ill effects.   
John Sullivan, the reluctant hero, never lived it down.