Morning Glory Page 22

  Calmly she set the bowl aside, rose and closed the book. “I know what we’ll need, Will.” Unflinchingly she met his worried brown eyes. “And I’ll have it all ready. You shouldn’t be reading that stuff, ‘cause it just scares you, is all.”

  “But it says—”

  “I know what it says. But having a baby is a natural act. Why, the Indian women squatted in the woods and did it all alone, then walked back into the fields and started hoeing corn as soon as it was over.”

  “You’re no Indian,” he argued intensely.

  “But I’m strong. And healthy. And if it comes down to it, happy, too. Seems to me that’s as important as anything else, isn’t it? Happy people got something to fight for.”

  Her calm reasoning punctured his anger with surprising suddenness. When it had disappeared, one fact had impressed him: she’d said she was happy. They stood near, so near he could have touched her by merely lifting a hand, could have curled his fingers around her neck, rested his palms on her cheeks and asked, Are you, Elly? Are you really? For he wanted to hear it again, the evidence that for the first time in his life, he seemed to be doing something right.

  But she dropped her chin and turned to retrieve the bowl of nuts and carry them to the cupboard. “Not everyone can stand the sight of blood, and I’ll grant you there’s blood when a baby comes.”

  “It’s not that. I told you, it’s the risks.”

  She turned to face him and said realistically, “We got no money for a doctor, Will.”

  “We could get up enough. I could take another load of scrap metal in. And there’s the cream money, and the eggs, and now the honey. Even pecans. Purdy’ll buy the pecans. I know he will.”

  She began shaking her head before he finished. “You just rest easy. Let me do the worrying about the baby. It’ll turn out fine.”

  But how could he not worry?

  In the days that followed he watched her moving about the place with increasing slowness. Her burden began to ride lower, her ankles swelled, her breasts widened. And each day brought him closer to the day of delivery.

  November tenth brought a temporary distraction from his worries. It was Eleanor’s birthday—Will hadn’t forgotten. He awakened to find her still asleep, facing him. He rolled onto his stomach and curled the pillow beneath his neck to indulge himself in a close study of her. Pale brows and gold-tipped lashes, parted lips and pleasing nose. One ear peeking through a coil of loose hair and one knee updrawn beneath the covers. He watched her breathe, watched her hand twitch once, twice. She came awake by degrees, unconsciously smacking her lips, rubbing her nose and finally opening sleepy eyes.

  “Mornin’, lazybones,” he teased.

  “Mmm...” She closed her eyes and nestled, half on her belly. “Mornin’.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  Her eyes opened but she lay unmoving, absorbing the words while a lazy smile dawned across her face.

  “You remembered.”

  “Absolutely. Twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five. A quarter of a century.”

  “Makes you sound older than you look.”

  “Oh, Will, the things you say.”

  “I was watching you wake up. Looked pretty good to me.”

  She covered her face with the sheet and he smiled against his pillow.

  “You got time to bake a cake today?”

  She lowered the sheet to her nose. “I guess, but why?”

  “Then bake one. I’d do it, but I don’t know how.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, he threw back the covers and sprang up. Standing beside the bed with his elbows lifted, he executed a mighty, twisting stretch. She watched with unconcealed interest—the flexing muscles, the taut skin, the moles, the long legs dusted with black hair. Legs planted wide, he shivered and bent acutely to the left, the right, then snapped over to pick up his clothes and begin dressing. It was engrossing, watching a man donning his clothes. Men did it so much less fussily than women.

  “You gonna answer me?” she insisted.

  Facing away from her, he smiled. “For your birthday party.”

  “My birthday party!” She sat up. “Hey, come back here!”

  But he was gone, buttoning his shirt, grinning.

  It was a toss-up who had to work harder to conceal his impatience that day—Will, who’d had the plan in his head for weeks, Eleanor, whose eyes shone all the while she baked her own cake but who refused to ask when this party was supposed to happen, or Donald Wade, who asked at least a dozen times that morning, “How long now, Will?”

  Will had planned to wait until after supper, but the cake was ready at noon, and by late afternoon Donald Wade’s patience had been stretched to the limit. When Will went to the house for a cup of coffee, Donald Wade tapped his knee and whispered for the hundredth time, “Now, Will... pleeeease?”

  Will relented. “All right, kemo sabe. You and Thomas go get the stuff.”

  The stuff turned out to be two objects crudely wrapped in wrinkled white butcher’s paper, drawn together with twine. The boys each carried one, brought them proudly and deposited them beside Eleanor’s coffee cup.

  “Presents?” She crossed her hands on her chest. “For me?”

  Donald Wade nodded hard enough to loosen the wax in his ears.

  “Me ‘n’ Will and Thomas made ‘em.”

  “You made them!”

  “One of ‘em,” Will corrected, pulling Thomas onto his lap while Donald Wade pressed against his mother’s chair.

  “This one.” Donald Wade pushed the weightier package into her hands. “Open it first.” His eyes fixed on her hands while she fumbled with the twine, pretending difficulty in getting it untied. “This dang ole thing is givin’ me fits!” she exclaimed. “Lord, Donald Wade, help me.” Donald Wade reached eagerly and helped her yank the bow and push the paper down, revealing a ball of suet, meshed by twine and rolled in wheat.

  “It’s for your birds!” he announced excitedly.

  “For my birds. Oh, myyy...” Eyes shining, she held it aloft by a loop of twine. “Won’t they love it?”

  “You can hang it up and everything!”

  “I see that.”

  “Will, he got the stuff and we put the fat through the grinder and I helped him turn the crank and me ‘n’ Thomas stuck the seeds on. See?”

  “I see. Why, I s’pect it’s the prettiest suet ball I ever seen. Oh, thank you so much, darlin’...” She gave Donald Wade a tight hug, then leaned over to hold the baby’s chin and smack him soundly on the lips. “You too, Thomas. I didn’t know you were so clever.”

  “Open the other one,” Donald Wade demanded, stuffing it into her hands.

  “Two presents—my goodness gracious.”

  “This one’s from Will.”

  “From Will...” Her delighted eyes met her husband’s while her fingers sought the ties on the scroll-shaped package. Though his insides were jumping with impatience, Will forced himself to sit easy in the kitchen chair, an arm propped on the table edge with a finger hooked in a coffee cup.

  Opening the gift, Eleanor gazed at him. With an ankle braced on a knee his leg formed a triangle. Thomas was draped through it. It suddenly occurred to Eleanor that she wouldn’t trade Will for ten Hopalong Cassidys. “He’s somethin’, isn’t he? Always givin’ me presents.”

  “Hurry, Mama!”

  “Oh... o’ course.” She turned her attention to opening the gift. Inside was a three-piece doily set—an oval and two crescents—of fine linen, all hemstitched and border stamped, ready for crochet hook and embroidery needle.

  Eleanor’s heart swelled and words failed her. “Oh, Will...” She hid her trembling lips behind the fine, crisp linen. Her eyes stung.

  “The sign called it a Madeira dresser set. I knew you liked to crochet.”

  “Oh, Will...” Gazing at him, her eyes shimmered. “You do the nicest things.” She stretched a hand across the table, palm-up.

  Placing his hand in he
rs, Will felt his pulse leap.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  He had never thought of himself as dear. The word sent a shaft of elation from his heart clear down to the seat of his chair. Their fingers tightened and for a moment they forgot about gifts and cakes and pregnancies and pasts and the two little boys who looked on impatiently.

  “We got to have the cake now, Mama,” Donald Wade interrupted, and the moment of closeness receded. But everything was intensified after that, tingly, electric. As Eleanor moved about the kitchen, whipping cream, slicing chocolate cake, serving it, she felt Will’s eyes moving with her, following, questing. And she found herself hesitant to look at him.

  Back at the table, she handed him his plate and he took it without touching so much as her fingertips. She sensed his distance as a cautious thing, an almost unwillingness to believe. And she understood, for in her craziest moments she’d never have believed anything as crazy as this could happen. Her heart thundered at merely being in the same room with him. And a sharp pain had settled between her shoulder blades. And she found it hard to draw a full breath.

  “I’ll take Baby Thomas.” She tried to sound casual.

  “He can stay on my lap. You enjoy your cake.”

  They ate, afraid to look at each other, afraid they had somehow misread, afraid they wouldn’t know what to do when the plates were empty.

  Before they were, Donald Wade looked out the window and pointed with his fork. “Who’s that?”

  Will looked and leaped to his feet. “Lord a-mighty!”

  Eleanor dropped her fork and said, “What’s she doing here?”

  Before Will could conjure a guess, Gladys Beasley mounted the porch steps and knocked on the door.

  Will opened it for her. “Miss Beasley, what a surprise.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.”

  “Come in.”

  He had the feeling she would have, whether invited or not. He poked his head outside. “Did you walk clear out here from town?”

  “I don’t own an automobile. I didn’t see any other way.”

  Surprised, Will ushered her inside and turned to perform introductions. But Gladys took the matter out of his hands.

  “Hello, Eleanor. My, haven’t you grown up.”

  “Hello, Miss Beasley.” Eleanor stood behind a chair, nervously fingered her apron edge as if preparing to curtsy.

  “And these are your sons, I suppose.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Donald Wade and Baby Thomas.”

  “And another one on the way. My, aren’t you a lucky child.”

  “Yes’m,” Eleanor answered dutifully, her eyes flashing to Will’s. What does she want?

  He hadn’t an inkling and could only shrug. But he understood Eleanor’s panic. How long had it been since she’d engaged in polite conversation with anyone from town? In all likelihood Miss Beasley was the first outsider Eleanor had ever allowed in this house.

  “I understand congratulations are in order, too, on your marriage to Mr. Parker.”

  Again Eleanor’s eyes flashed to Will, then she colored and dropped her gaze to the chair, running a thumbnail along its backrest.

  Miss Beasley glanced at the table. “It appears I’ve interrupted your meal. I’m—”

  “No, no,” Will interjected. “We were just having cake.”

  Donald Wade, who never spoke to strangers, inexplicably chose to speak to this one. “It’s Mama’s birthday. Will and me and Baby Thomas was givin’ her a party.”

  “Won’t you sit down and have some?” Eleanor invited.

  Will could scarcely believe his ears, but the next moment Miss Beasley settled her hard-packed bulk in one of the chairs and was served a piece of chocolate cake and whipped cream. Though Will hadn’t actually missed having outsiders around, he found their absence unhealthy. If there was ever the perfect person to draw Eleanor out of her reclusiveness, it was Miss Beasley. Not exactly the gayest person, but fair-minded to a fault, and not at all the sort to dredge up painful past history.

  Miss Beasley accepted a cup of coffee, laced it heavily with cream and sugar, sampled the cake and pursed her hairy lips. “Mmmm... quite delectable,” she proclaimed. “Quite as delectable as the honey you sent, Eleanor. I must say I’m not accustomed to receiving gifts from my library patrons. Thank you.”

  Donald Wade piped up. “Wanna see the ones we give Mama today?”

  Miss Beasley deferentially set down her fork and focused full attention on the child. “By all means.”

  Donald Wade scrambled around the table, found the suet ball and brought it, couched in his hand, to the librarian. “This here’s for her birds. Me’n Will and Baby Thomas made it all ourselfs.”

  “You made it... mmm.” She examined it minutely. “Now aren’t you clever. And a homemade gift is certainly one from the heart—the best kind, just like the honey your mother and Mr. Parker gave me. You’re a lucky child.” She patted him on the head in the way of an adult unused to palavering socially with children. “They’re teaching you the things that matter most.”

  “And this here...” Donald Wade, excited at having someone new on whom to shower his enthusiasm, reached next for the doilies. “These’re from Will. He bought ‘em with the honey money and Mama she can embroidry on ‘em.”

  Again Miss Beasley gave the items due attention. “Ah, your mother is lucky, too, isn’t she?”

  It suddenly struck Donald Wade that the broad-beamed woman was a stranger, yet she seemed to know his mother. He looked up at Miss Beasley with wide, unblinking eyes. “How do you know ‘er?”

  “She used to come into my library when she was a girl not much bigger than you. Occasionally I was her teacher, you might say.”

  Donald Wade blinked. “Oh.” Then he inquired, “What’s a lie-bree?”

  “A library? Why, one of the most wonderful places in the world. Filled with books of all kinds. Picture books, story-books, books for everyone. You must come and visit it sometime, too. Ask Mr. Parker to bring you. I’ll show you a book about a boy who looks quite a bit like you, actually, named Timothy Totter’s Tatters. Mmmm...” Leaning back, she tapped an index finger on her lips and examined Donald Wade as if a decision hung in the balance. “Yes, I should say Timothy Totter is just the book for a boy... what? Five years old?”

  Donald Wade made his hair bounce, nodding.

  “Do you have a dog, Donald Wade?”

  Mystified, he wagged his head slowly.

  “You don’t? Well, Timothy Totter does. And his name is Tatters. When you come, I’ll introduce you to both Timothy and Tatters. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Mr. Parker a moment.”

  Miss Beasley could not have chosen a gentler method of bringing Eleanor around to the idea of bumping up against the outside world again. If there was an ideal way to reach Eleanor it was through her children. By the time Miss Beasley’s interchange with Donald Wade ended, Eleanor was sitting, looking less as if she was preparing to bolt. Miss Beasley told her, “That’s the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t mind having the recipe,” then turned to Will without pause. “I’ve come bearing some sad news. Levander Sprague, who has cleaned my library for the past twenty-six years, dropped dead of a heart attack night before last.”

  “Oh... I’m sorry.” He’d never heard of Levander Sprague. Why in the world had she brought the news clear out here?

  “Mr. Sprague shall be sorely missed. However, he lived a long and fruitful life, and he leaves behind nine strapping boys to see their mother through her last years. I, however, am left without a custodian. The job pays twenty-five dollars a week. Would you like it, Mr. Parker?”

  Will’s face flattened with surprise. His glance shot to Elly, then back to the librarian, as she hastened on. “Six nights a week, after the library closes. Caring for the floors, dusting the furniture, burning the trash, stoking the furnace in the winters, occasionally carrying boxes of books to the basement, building additional shelves when we need them.”

>   “Well...” Will’s amazement modified into a crooked smile as he chuckled and ran a hand down the back of his head. “That’s quite an offer, Miss Beasley.”

  “I thought about offering it to one of Mr. Sprague’s sons, but quite frankly, I’d rather have you. You have a certain respect for the library that I like. And I heard that you were summarily dismissed from the sawmill, which irritated my sense of fair play.”

  Will was too surprised to be offended. His mind raced. What would Elly say? And should he be gone evenings when she was so close to due? But twenty-five dollars a week—every week—and his days still free!

  “When would you want me to start?”

  “Immediately. Tomorrow. Today if possible.”

  “Today... well, I... I’d have to think it over,” he replied, realizing Elly ought to have a say.

  “Very well. I’ll wait outside.”

  Wait outside? But he needed time to feel Elly out. He should have guessed that Miss Beasley would tolerate no shilly-shallying. He was already scratching his jaw in consternation as the door closed. At the same moment Eleanor arose stiffly from her chair and began clearing away the cake plates.

  “Elly?” he asked.

  She wouldn’t look at him. “You take it, Will. I can see you want to.”

  “But you don’t want me to, right?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I could buy fixtures for a bathroom and I’d still have days free to put it in for you.”

  “I said, take it.”

  “But you don’t like me hangin’ around town, do you?”

  She set the dishes in the dishpan and did an about-face. “My feelings for town are mine. I got no right to keep you from it, if that’s what you want.”