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Too Late for Sunday

Written by Michael Badillo

December, 1633, Grantville

"Roberta Allene Haggerty! Come here for a minute, please."

"What is it, Momma?" Allie answered, entering her parents' room. The "please" didn't fool her a bit. Nobody called you by your full name unless you were in trouble.

"We need to talk, honey."

"'Bout what?"

Her mother studied her for a moment before speaking. "I'm worried about you, honey. You ate three helpings of meatloaf for dinner, and you've been sick every morning this week." She fingered the rosary in her hand for a few seconds before continuing. "Are you pregnant, baby?"

"What?" Why would you even think that, Momma? I'm still a virgin."

"Because you've been eating like a horse," Momma said. "And because you've been so sick. I can't even see you under your baggy old clothes. Have you been gaining weight?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Haven't you weighed yourself lately?"

"Why? I'm skinny; we don't even have a scale in the upstairs bathroom."

"Well, use mine then." Momma stood beside Allie while she stepped on the scale and waited for the dial to stop.

"See," Allie said. "I ain't getting fat."

"My God." This came out as a shriek. "How can you weigh ninety-six pounds? Take off that baggy sweater so I can get a look at you. Why do you have to dress like a scarecrow, anyway?" Momma ran her fingers through Allie's unkempt chestnut hair. "You're so pretty."

Allie didn't much like to do it, but she took off her sweater.

Her mother's face paled. "I can see your ribs . . . Your collarbones are sticking out. You're going to see Doctor Adams tomorrow morning."

"I'm not pregnant. Why don't you believe me, Momma?"

"I believe you, baby. I'm just worried now, is all."

****

Allie walked back to her room and shut off the radio. She was worried now, too. She had never been overweight; in fact she'd always been somewhat on the thin side of normal. She'd lost a lot of weight.

Most people had shed a few pounds since the Ring of Fire, just from walking more often. But she hadn't lost any until just the last few months. Since September she had lost twenty-eight pounds, no small amount for a girl who stood five foot four and weighed less than a hundred and thirty pounds to begin with.

She was worried not just because the weight loss and the eating. She was always thirsty, and always cold. She was also slightly hurt that her mother would think she had strayed from God's plan and gotten pregnant. Even if, after their little talk, Momma said that she trusted her. It still hurt.

She changed into her nightgown and knelt beside her bed, rubbing her hands briskly together to warm them before placing them together to pray.

****

Allie had already finished her chemistry quiz and sat thinking. She really needed a good medical project, something with a lot of chemistry that would help her get ahead in nursing school.

The idea of a blood drive occurred to her. She thought it would be a good idea, if the supplies were available. She made a note to seeDoctor Adams about how to get started.

One problem solved, she turned to the next. Who should she ask to the prom? No one had asked her yet, but someone might still. She decided to wait.

The ringing bell startled her. She hastily gathered up her books and papers and stuffed them into a worn denim backpack. She chided herself silently for daydreaming. She could get by with it in chemistry, but history class was different. She couldn't memorize every meaningless date that ever got written down. Especially now with two different centuries of current events and the Thirty Years' War happening in Grantville's living room. She was making a low B in history and she didn't want her grade to drop.

Stopping by Mrs. Selluci's desk, she rooted through the pile of graded homework until she found hers. She scooped it up and deposited her ungraded work on top of the other pile. Ninety-one percent she noted, wondering what she missed.

****

"Allie, honey, go on in and have a seat." Allie smiled nervously at the nurse and followed her into the cramped office. She shivered as she entered the room.

There were three other people in the room besides her parents. One was Doctor Adams, her family physician. The second was his nurse, Sheila Baldwin. But she didn't recognize the elderly gentleman who sat in the far corner looking at her with what appeared to be great interest.

Their faces were frozen in a look of dread. She could tell her mother had been crying. Her father sat looking glum with his arm around Momma.

"Uh . . ." Allie looked around the room for a place to sit. Doctor Adams indicated a small folding chair. She took a seat and folded her hands primly into her lap.

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Finally, Doctor Adams cleared his throat and began to talk. "Allie, we've done some tests. I've discussed the results with your parents." He paused. Allie looked at him and then around the room. All eyes were on her.

Momma stood. "Allie, honey . . . angel . . . you have diabetes." She began sobbing.

"But I'm only seventeen!" Allie understood the implication. She planned on being a nurse after high school. She was just months from graduating and her birthday was soon after. She didn't think this was fair. There was only one fate for a diabetic in the seventeenth century. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Her father stood up and started to speak. The nurse interrupted. "Maybe not, Allie. But it doesn't look good. At your age it's likely to be type I, insulin dependant. Before the Ring of Fire, it would have been more treatable. But we don't have the technology anymore. Some insulin is available again, but it's still experimental."

Momma jumped at that. "What? I didn't know that. It could save her life." She turned toward the doctor. "Doctor Adams, you've got to do something. You can't just let her die."

"Hold on, Bobby Jean. Sheila only gave you half the story. I'll get to the other half in a minute. But I warn you: It could be dangerous."

"But she'll certainly die without it, right?" Her father spoke for the first time. There was an edge of anger in his voice.

"Hold your horses, Ernest. I said there was another half. And that half is Zijbert." Doctor Adams indicated the man wearing a white lab coat and holding a cane. He had snow white hair and wore a white goatee and mustaches. The man stood. "This is Doctor Zijbert van Trumpe. He's the closest thing Thuringia has to an endocrinologist."

The man looked Allie directly in the eye and gave a slight nod. "How do you do, Miss Haggerty?" His English held a slight Dutch accent.

Allie thought he looked like Colonel Sanders. The thought made her smile in spite of it all. "I'm pleased to meet you, Doctor."

He smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. "Doctor Adams flatters me. I am more of an herbalist really, but I can treat your illness. Let us begin. This new insulin may save your life. You are a minor, but with your parents' consent, we can begin your treatment. I concur with Doctor Adams' diagnosis. Are you willing to undergo insulin therapy?"

Allie's answer was terse. "Rather than die? Of course."

"A year ago," van Trumpe began, "it would have been impossible to treat you. There are several things you can do about type two diabetes, but without insulin, hope for the type ones is slim.

"The insulin we are using is still experimental, as Doctor Adams indicated. Each batch is a different strength, so you have to undergo tests which allow the technicians to dilute it to a given strength. This insulin is weaker than up-time U100 or U500. It is about U10. The lower strength means we can use the larger syringes that are being manufactured now. I have set up a small clinic in the Three M complex. The insulin labs are there too. Your dosing schedule will be really complex and, for a while at least, we will administer your shots from my clinic. If you will come to my office on Monday, we can begin."

When Allie finally left the office, she was tired, cold and scared. But she wasn't too preoccupied with her own problems to notice the thin young man who sat alone in the waiting room.

****

"Allie, this is Hugo." Nurse Baldwin introduced the young man Allie vaguely remembered seeing at Doctor Adams' the other day. He was very skinny, with sunken eyes and his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. She could see the hollow spots around his collarbones. "He has diabetes too. We thought you might like to meet him."

"Guten tag," said Hugo. "I am Hugo Sonntag."

"I'm Allie." She held out her hand. To her surprise Hugo took it and bowed deeply as he kissed it. She thought he would be cute if he could gain a few pounds.

Nurse Baldwin set a pitcher of water and two glasses on the table. "We're going to let you two get to know each other. Remember; support is really important. Don't give up hope."

"Is good to meet you, Allie. I also am type one." Hugo's English was stilted and halting, but understandable nonetheless.

She smiled at him mirthlessly. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head tossing his wavy black mane. "Is the will of God. But I have been taking the insulin. Still, I am alive."

"How long have you had diabetes?"

"For three months." He shrugged. "I should have died, were it not for the medicine."

"How old are you, Hugo?"

"Nineteen."

They talked for hours, just getting to know each other. It turned out that they had some things in common. They had hopes, and dreams, and aspirations. They both loved school. And they both hoped to live long enough to finish it. Hugo dreamt of being an astronomer; Allie wanted to be a nurse. Both of these things required time—time they might not have. By about sunset, they had finished three pitchers of water and had gotten to know each other fairly well. Allie decided that she liked Hugo.

****

"This is the best we can do." Doctor van Trumpe held up something that looked like a tiny wine bottle. It contained a cloudy liquid with the slightest pink tint. "Three M extracts it from the organs—the pancreas actually—of slaughtered pigs."

Allie knew insulin came from pigs and cattle, back before human insulin was available, but she was no less squeamish for the knowledge. "Well," she said resolutely, "it's better than no insulin." She squeezed Hugo's hand. In the past week they had become quite close. He wasn't her boyfriend, but lately he was the only person she felt understood how she was feeling.

She looked to her parents. The chairs had been set up in pairs; one for the Haggertys, one for the patients.

"Doctor van Trumpe?" Ernest Haggerty asked, "will this work?"

"Eventually, of course, the product will be pure. It is natural, so it will work." He set the vial down on his desk. "It works now, but the question is how much to use. The concentration is weak and not entirely pure. The effects are not always consistent."

"It's better than nothing." Bobby Jean blinked back tears.

Allie tried to put herself in her parent's position; losing their daughter just as she came of age, but she couldn't.

The doctor went to his desk and took out a small box. He opened it and showed the contents to Allie. It held two glass syringes with huge evil looking needles that appeared to be made of brass. "These are the best syringes we have," he said, offering one to her. "They are large but with the new concentration, it should not be a problem. The needles are replaceable, but not easily.

"You will come here twice a day, before and after school, for your shot. You will not skip a day, no matter how ill you are. We will start by giving you your shots."

Allie relaxed slightly at that.

"But, you must learn to do it yourself someday. So, before you leave here today . . ." He took the other syringe and filled it with clear liquid from another bottle. ". . . you will have to give yourself a saline injection. Like so." He demonstrated on his own arm. Then he picked up the bottle of saline and handed it to Allie. "Your turn."

****

Hugo came to stay with the Haggertys shortly after Allie began to take the insulin. He was a down-timer and an orphan, so he didn't have any support net. He had come to Grantville seeking education. He was taking classes to pass the infamous GED when he fell ill.

Since he was so young he had no trade, no stake, and he was too sick to labor and learn one. Ernest and Bobbie Jean took him in. He got on well with Allie and God knew she needed an understanding friend.

They gave him the spare room. Hugo was immensely pleased. He'd never lived in such a fine building before. He lay in the comfortable bed, unable to sleep but not wanting to disturb his hosts. He had faith in American technology. Soon they would have better medicine and he could give himself the shots.

He'd seen the wasting sickness before. Those who got it as a child died, usually starving no matter how much they ate. It was a terrible thing.

Dear Lord, please let this work. Please watch over Allie for me, and the Haggertys. Please allow the medicine to work. Not just for us, but for everyone who has and will have the wasting sickness. Please bless us with your infinite mercy. Please bring us another miracle.

December 29, 1633

Allie's boots crunched in the new snow as she and Hugo marched through the empty cornfield. She was cold to the point of shivering. "Why are you bringing me out here?" She thought when he asked her to walk with him that they would walk hand-in-hand and talk about romantic things.

The only light around came from the pathetic bullseye lantern he carried. "I can't feel my toes, Hugo." He didn't answer. She scanned the horizon, but failed to see anything of importance. The town was behind them. She could see the lights but not much else. "The Moon isn't even out," she added.

Hugo stopped in the middle of the field. Holding the lantern aloft so that she could see, he smiled broadly and spoke. "We are here."

"Where, Hugo?" She knew there was a hint of irritation in her voice. "We are where?"

He swept the lantern around to indicate the field. "Here," he repeated simply.

"Hugo," she replied, the impatience mounting in her voice, "I don't see anything. What do you expect me to see?"

"Stars." He dowsed the lantern.

She looked up. "Oh, my God. They're beautiful. I've never seen the stars like this."Grantville was far from the major sources of light pollution in the twentieth century, but in seventeenth-century Germany, the town sat under an inky black sky. Impossibly bright stars burned in the sky like so many bale fires. "Hugo, they're amazing!"

"They are beautiful." He looked at the ground for a moment before gazing into her eyes. "Like you."

She didn't know what to say. No up-time boy had ever taken her out on a moonless night to show her the stars.

"The brightest one is Jupiter." He looked back to her to make sure she understood. "Is planet, not star. But star south and west, is Alpha Taurii. Mohammedans call it Aldebaran."

She leaned closer to him, snuggling for warmth, but also to see better. He wrapped his cloak over her shoulders.

"To south of Jupiter is Alpha Orionis. Is also called Betelgeuse. Is brighter than Aldebaran. It is point four magnitude, while . . ."

Allie placed a finger over his lips. "Shh. Talk about the stars, not the math." She grasped his other hand in hers.

He turned toward the eastern horizon and pointed to a small red light. "That is planet Mars. He has two moons, but we can't see them." He turned to her and gave a pleading look. "Up-time stories say you sent machines to fly there. Is true?"

"Yes, Hugo, it is true."

He was silent for several minutes. "Marvelous," he said at last.

Her watch beeped. "Oh my God, Hugo," she declared, suddenly alarmed. "It's midnight. We gotta get home. My parents will be worried."

He started walking toward the town, pulling her hand. "Come," he said chuckling. "Your parents will not worry. I keep you safe."

She laughed at this, but still they hurried.

****

Hugo looked over the cathode ray tube sitting face down on a blanket on top of the kitchen table. The television had gone out the week before during a program he'd really wanted to see, and the technician who diagnosed it said that the tube was bad. No replacement parts were available so it couldn't be fixed. Ernest gave him the set after it broke as a project. When it turned out it couldn't be fixed, Hugo sold the chassis—it still had many useful parts that could be cannibalized.

But he kept the tube. He had a plan, and the money he made selling the spare parts would make it happen.

He would take the twenty-five inch TV tube and make a telescope out of it. He had the parts, or most of them, and Mister Haggerty said he could use his tools. He'd even promised to help.

Hugo could buy what few special parts he would need. And hardware, of course. That ...