O'Brien's Desk - Ona Russell

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manager of Lamson Brothers, a retailer of dry goods, clothes, and millinery, but he lost his job several years ago due to illness. Her younger sister, Tillie, never held a job. Lacking Sarah’s ambition and burdened with a slight limp from a bout with polio, she was designated the family’s domestic, a role with which she was content.

      The three appeared to live a rather odd life; none had married, and all were in their forties. But in the main, they functioned as normally as any other family, perhaps even more so because despite variances in personality and intelligence, they enjoyed each other’s company immensely. To be sure, they had their conflicts. Harry and Tillie demanded a great deal both financially and emotionally from their sister, and at times Sarah tired of the responsibility, at times she resented her siblings’ dependence on her. She always hoped, in fact, that she would one day have a different kind of life, one that would involve a husband and perhaps children of her own. But as the years passed, the suitors who were once plentiful became scarce. Many had been put off by her commitment to her work, especially when she told them that if she ever were to marry, she would want to keep her job. Others found her political activism—her support of suffrage, membership in the NAACP and the like—unfeminine, and still others, even those who considered themselves open-minded, saw her religion as a stumbling block to the development of a long-term relationship. Yet it really wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because none of her gentlemen callers had been what she sought either. To be more exact, none had quite matched the fantasy that she had secretly held since the time she had met O’Brien O’Donnell. And when word eventually got around that Miss Sarah Kaufman was too hard to please, they simply stopped trying.

       Sarah pushed open the rusty, wrought iron gate. She was happy to be home. Any hope of sharing in domestic pleasures, however, was dashed soon after she entered her front door. For long before the food was served and the cards were dealt, even before the candles were lit, she learned that O’Brien had been admitted to the Toledo State Hospital. Her shorter and fuller-figured sister gave her the news as she was removing her coat and inhaling the rich aroma of stewed beef. Tillie had become a skilled cook since their mother died, and for this Sarah was grateful because she herself could do little more than boil water.

      “Sarah, dear, I hate to break this to you before dinner, but the doctor sounded very concerned.”

      “Doctor? What doctor?” Sarah asked, hanging her coat. It needed a good cleaning.

      “The doctor from the hospital, dear . . . from the state hospital. Seems the judge has taken ill again, Sarah. It’s pretty bad this time; the doctor said he’s been asking for you.”

      Sarah stopped in her tracks. Hunched over, with one shoe perilously perched on the end of her foot, she felt as if she’d been turned to stone.

      “The judge? Obee, ill? What do you mean?” Tillie’s dark eyes were troubled. “I mean the doctor just called, Sarah. Obee’s very sick.”

      “I don’t believe it,” Sarah said, just as gravity got the best of her shoe. “It can’t be true, Til. He’s been looking so much better lately; everything’s been going so well. Why, we just spoke this morning. He was absolutely fine. Tillie, are you sure? This isn’t some sort of joke, is it?”

      “The doctor’s name is on the note pad by the telephone Sarah, along with the hospital phone number. Call him. Maybe it’s a mistake.” Tillie pursed her thin lips and turned away.

      Sarah reached over and touched her sister’s arm affectionately. “Tillie, dear, I’m sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you. I know you wouldn’t make something like this up. I’m just shocked, that’s all. Did the doctor say anything else?”

      “No, not really. I think he was hesitant to give me any more details.”

      “Yes, yes, of course, he would be. I’d better call him immediately. You and Harry go ahead and eat. It sounds as if this may be a long night.”

      “I knew I should’ve waited until after dinner to tell you,” Tillie said frowning. “If I say so myself, the stew is particularly good tonight.”

      “Well, just make sure to save some for me then. Your meals are always just as good if not better the next day.”

      Tillie offered an appreciative smile. “All right, I’ll set aside a platter for you. You just better hope Harry doesn’t get a hold of it before you return.”

      Sarah responded with a knowing sigh, straightened her dress and headed toward the telephone.

       “Unit two, Dr. Miller’s office.”

      Sarah thought she recognized the voice on the other end of the line.

      “Hello . . . Jan?”

      “Yes?”

      “Hi Jan. This is Sarah Kaufman. May I speak to Dr. Miller, please?”

      “Yes, of course, Sarah. The doctor has been waiting for your call. I’ll put you right through.”

      Thank God Dr. Miller was attending Obee. No matter what had happened, the doctor would keep it to himself and would admonish his staff to do the same. Miller was a compassionate man who impressed Sarah during the Lulu Carey case by admitting that he had overlooked crucial evidence. He was also a friend of Obee’s, and, fortunately, a Democrat.

      “Ah, Miss Kaufman. Good of you to call back so quickly.” The doctor’s voice was calm but somber. Sarah took in a deep breath before responding. “What’s happened, Doctor? Why is the judge in the hospital?”

      “Miss Kaufman . . . Sarah, may I call you Sarah?”

      “Certainly.”

      “Sarah, I don’t know quite how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it outright. Normally, I would only reveal such sensitive information to the immediate family, but knowing your closeness to O’Brien and seeing as though he seems so desperate to see you. Look, Sarah, here it is. The judge took an overdose of laudanum today. We don’t know yet if it was intentional or accidental. His wife found him unconscious on the floor of his library. She’d been calling him, and when he didn’t respond, she tried without success to open the door. It was locked and, believe it or not Sarah, she didn’t possess a key.”

      Dr. Miller uttered this last statement with a note of incredulity. He hesitated for a moment. Was he looking for some reaction? When Sarah offered none, he continued. “Fortunately, however, Mrs. O’Donnell remembered that the carpenter who had done some of the work in the house still had a key to the room. She called him, and he immediately came over. It was lucky that he was home, Sarah. An hour longer and the judge would have been gone.”

      Sarah stood pale and mute. How could this be? Her brain felt numb. In the past such news might have been less perplexing. There were times when she’d almost expected it. Last fall, for instance.

      But now, at the height of O’Brien’s popularity, with the election in his pocket and Winifred and the baby finally home, it simply didn’t make any sense. That he had taken that despicable drug again after all these years was confounding enough. But the possibility that he had tried to take his own life was beyond belief. If true, there must be something wrong, something terribly wrong.

      This last thought brought Sarah back to her senses enough to realize that Dr. Miller was speaking to her.

      “Sarah, Sarah . . . hello, Sarah, are you all right?”

      “No, Doctor. To tell you the truth, I’m not. How could I be?”

      “Yes, I imagine this comes as quite a shock. I was stunned myself when the judge was admitted. But then, we must be grateful that he’s alive. And I will of course do anything I can to help him. Tell me though, Sarah, do you think you feel strong enough to come to the hospital? As I’ve said, O’Brien is quite determined to see you. And, Sarah, I would like a few minutes to speak with you privately as well.

      Mrs. O’Donnell is quite out of her mind over this, and there are, well, some questions you might be able to answer better than she.”

      Both

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