"Sleep well, Miss Eleanor," said the weary-eyed orderly. He reached for the velcro bed straps. "Your daughter and her husband will be in early. They've got something to discuss with you."
Eleanor Canada Newell, paper-white skin clinging to her furrowed face and puckered lips, shook her head at the straps, her delft blue eyes desperate. She gazed from the straps to the music box on the nightstand.
The orderly sighed and crossed his arms. "This is for your own good, Miss Eleanor. I don't want to come in here and find you lying in the floor again. Last time, it took four weeks for those fractures to heal."
"Please, Harvey. Let me sleep in peace tonight," she said, a whisper of the South in her voice. "Just for tonight." She already knew what news her daughter, Brenda, brought.
Harvey talked strict, but he'd been sweet to her since she'd arrived here, sneaking her butter cookies and hot tea in the evenings. He gazed down at the over-starched sheets. "All right," he said, wagging a finger at her. "But just for tonight."
He opened the door, the scalding hallway lights cutting through the cool darkness of her room, but she called gently to him.
"Harvey, could you wind my music box before you go?"
She pointed a skeletal finger toward the rosewood and glass music box on the nightstand.
He paused in the threshold, silhouetted by the harsh light, and glanced back at her. "Can't you go one night without playing that box? You've played it every night since you been here."
Three months she'd been here--after a fall in her kitchen. They told her she could go home as soon as she had healed. He didn't know how much that music box meant to her, especially now.
When she didn't answer, he groaned and ran his hand across his spiky blond bangs. Finally, he reached for the music box.
"Thank you."
"Don't know what's so special about this thing."
"My husband, God rest his soul, won it for me on prom night, the night he proposed."
He smiled. "Good night, Miss Eleanor. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."
The music box's crisp chime plinked out In the Good Ol' Summer Time as Harvey slipped out of the room. Eleanor closed her eyes, savoring the timeworn melody. The cool darkness and the notes intertwined with her breathing until the veils of her memory parted.
The clop of horse and carriage replaced the clinking of dishes from the hallway. The starched sheet became a white pinafore draping her frame. Slowly, she swung her fragile body off the bed, her feet touching the cold, dusty linoleum. With unsteady limbs, she reached for the music box. It vibrated in her hands as she carried it toward the closed door. Fighting against her aching body, she bent down and set the music box in front of the door.
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