An Elevator in the School House

An Elevator in the School House

a short story by PNA volunteer Charles Forsher inspired by the construction of the Blue Building elevator

THE SPANISH FLU WAS RAGING WORLD WIDE.

Ten year old Susan Bower of Phinney Ridge had been one of those struck down, and had lain on top of her bed sweating profusely as well as being in a delirium. Mrs. Bower had been sitting in her grandmother’s rocking chair in the same room keeping a vigil, and unable to sleep reciting prayers for her daughters recovery all through the night before, the illness beyond the help of aspirin. 

Mrs. Bower was quite exhausted now, her Gibson Girl appearance frazzled, but having a confidence her daughter would live. Patience now was what the grown woman needed.  About the tenth hour of the morning little Susan Bower suddenly took two deep breaths and then opened her eyes. Her mom half shrieked and then loudly summoned ‘papa’.

The husband entered his daughter’s bedroom. He was a burly man, hair parted down the middle and sporting a handle bar mustache. He walked over to his daughter and looked down at her sternly, then to his wife, who was standing next to him.

“The fever’s broken, Ellie.” Mrs. Bower nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. A two car train of the Seattle Everett Interurban rumbled by outside on Greenwood Avenue.

 “Oh papa! It was so strange!”

 “What was strange my child.” Mr. Bower asked as he looked back down at his daughter, her voice softening his heart.

“I had gone back to the school house, where I knew I would be safe, and entered by the north side. Everything looked different in a way, much older somehow, and there was an elevator in the schoolhouse.

“You were in a delirium my child!” Mr. Bower insisted lovingly.

“Honestly, papa. It was so real, all of it, and it made no sense. The door to the elevator was not made of glass like the one in the department store downtown; mama’s favorite.”

 Mrs. Bower nodded her head, agreeing with Susan. “That’s your favorite part of our shopping.”

“Besides the street car ride!” Susan added, color returning to her cheeks.

“Oh mama! The door to the elevator in the schoolhouse was made of polished steel! It slid open and some strangely dressed children walked out. I became so frightened that I fainted dead away!”

 Mrs. Bower started to swoon, but her husband came to her rescue.

“Now Susan, you know the schoolhouse doesn’t have an elevator.”

Mr. Bower reached down now and picking up the pitcher of water on the small table next to Susan’s bed, then picked up the tin cup that had been placed next to the pitcher, and poured some water into it. The small chain of Mr. Bower’s pocket watch lurched as the man bent down and offered his daughter the cup. Susan didn’t realize how thirsty she was, and quickly drained the cup of its contents. Then Susan settled back, pushing her head against the many pillows her parents had provided, a few days before at the onset of the symptoms.

“Papa, do you think there will ever be an elevator in the schoolhouse?”
 The burly man put down the pitcher and the tin cup handed back to him by his daughter, reflected on her question, and then smiled.

“Surely my daughter, in the Age rockets really carries men to the Moon and back!”

At that the Bower family had a good laugh.