The House on Persimmon Road (12 page)

Justine put her arms around the frail and bony shoulders. “You are somebody, Agnes. And your life hasn’t been a waste. You’re here for me and your grandchildren. That means a lot. Really, when you think about it, that’s pretty special.”

“I’m a burden to you. Pauline keeps saying—”

“Mother very often doesn’t think before she speaks. Don’t take everything she says amiss.”

“I try not to, I remind myself that Evan has only been dead a few months, that she’s lost everything…but she makes me so mad!”

“I know,” Justine crooned in an effort to remain neutral. “We’re having a cup of tea, come join us.”

“I think I’ll just work on my contests. Has the postman come?”

“When it stops raining, I’ll have Pip check.”

“You don’t think they lost our forwarding address?”

“I’m sure not.”

“It would be lovely to win a big contest, wouldn’t it?”

“It would be lovely if you won even a little one. After I check on Judy Ann, I’ll tell Mother to add another cup, in case you change your mind.”

Judy Ann was sprawled on the bed, connecting dots in an activity book. Mrs. Pratt, in all her rag-tag splendor, was propped on the chest of drawers.

The bedroom doors were open. Water gushed off the roof, falling in a haphazard curtain around the porch. Thick-trunked trees in the yard stood as sentries, draping moss passing for hundreds of flags heralding nature in her abundance. The grayness of it all gave Justine a sense of a primeval forest.

She picked up Mrs. Pratt and sat at the foot of the bed. “Do you believe in magic, sweetie?”

“On television.”

“There are certain kinds of magic in real life, too.”

Judy Ann’s gaze shifted from the book to Mrs. Pratt in her mother’s lap. “Dolls aren’t magic.”

“Maybe they are. If you wish it hard enough.”

“I was only doin’ pretend. I didn’t wish anything. Mrs. Pratt picked up the teacup all by herself. She’s alive.”

“You and Mrs. Pratt have been friends a long time.”

Judy Ann shrugged.

Justine tried another tack. “What shall we do with her?”

“She can stay in my toy box, I guess. If you put the lid down.”

“Sweetie, are you scared of Mrs. Pratt?”

“I don’t know what she might do!”

That tells the whole story, thought Justine. “Suppose I put Mrs. Pratt in my office, keep an eye on her? Just to make sure she’s friendly. That sounds better than banishing her to the toy box.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like it here.”

“Sure she does. We all do. You hear that, Mrs. Pratt?”

Judy Ann gave her mother a grave look, then bent her attention to the activity book.

Justine sighed despairingly. “I’ll leave the door open, sweetheart. If you want anything, call out.”

In the great room, the elders were each in their respective staked-out territory. Agnes was at her desk, her back to the room, poring over a contest newsletter. Pauline sat on a sofa in the conversation nook, fussing with the tray, adjusting the cozy on the teapot.

It was obvious that each was taking great pains to ignore the other, the tension between them being almost visible. Justine felt a sudden ache in her heart. They were both so dear to her. She would not want to lose either of them. But how to bring them together; put a halt to their bickering? If there was an answer, it escaped her.

“Ah! Justine. There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind about tea.”

“I took a few minutes to look in on Judy Ann.”

“Maybe she’d like for me to read to her later in the afternoon.”

Justine hid her surprise. Her mother was far too impatient to sit still for storybooks, always had been. It had been her father who had read Justine bedtime stories. The sudden offer to cater to Judy Ann had some underlying meaning. I’m being buttered up, Justine thought, and smoothly, too.

“I’m sure she’d enjoy that,” she said pleasantly. “Shall I pour?”

“No dear, you just relax.” Then, in a voice matched only by saccharin, she called to Agnes. “Shall I bring you tea? I’ve an extra cup.”

Agnes refused. Justine accepted hers, sipped it, then leaned back and waited for the shoe to drop.

She watched her mother pour her own tea, put the cup down, smooth her wrinkle-free skirt, pick up the cup again, sip from it, put it back down on its saucer, fiddle with the tea cozy and, finally, look up and smile.

“Tea quite hits the spot doesn’t it? That was one of my first accomplishments—brewing decent tea. My mother—and I wish you had met her Justine, had a firm belief that a lady should know proper tea service.”

Justine smiled her answer. It must be something big. It was taking an awfully long time for Pauline to pull it out of the hat.

“That idea I had,” Pauline began. “I’ve really been thinking about it—it’s kept me up nights. I just know it’ll work.”

“I’m all ears,” Justine encouraged.

“I knew you’d agree.”

“Not so fast. What is it you think I’m so agreeable to?”

“Why, I’ve decided to get a job.”

Justine sputtered into her tea.

Agnes lost interest in the newsletter. “I find I’m thirsty after all.” She hobbled across the room and sat down near Justine so that Pauline was obliged to pour.

The polite task done, Pauline sat ramrod stiff as if facing an inquisition that upon finding her guilty would sentence her to the stake.

“I can tell you both that I will not be put off about this. I intend to get a job.”

“Mother, you’ve never worked a day in your life. You don’t have any marketable skills,” Pauline pulled a folded paper from her pocket. “You don’t know that. I’m willing to work. That has to count for something. Now, I’ve organized a list. I have a social security card, have had for years, so that’s one thing out of the way. I have a suitable wardrobe, although I may need some stockings. The tiny little thing that has to happen first is that I do need to learn how to drive.”

“The tiny little thing! Mother, we only have the one car.” Justine had instant visions of the station wagon wrapped around tree trunks, telephone poles, languishing in ditches and plunging over cliffs.

“I know, dear. But think how convenient it’ll be for you. I can do the shopping, run errands—”

“Wreck the car.”

“I won’t.”

“I just can’t see you pounding the pavement hunting for work.”

“Much less finding a job that meets with your imperial standards,” put in Agnes.

“I won’t be sidetracked by either of you! I’m going to set up appointments by phone—when we get one. Which will be…?”

“Tomorrow sometime, I think,” said Justine.

“It’s settled then. When can you teach me to drive?”

Justine leaned back and closed her eyes. Pauline was asking too much of her. There were already so many demands upon her time and emotions. It seemed that lately she did little but give parts of herself away. If it kept up she would be reduced to zero—useless to others as well as herself.

“Right now I don’t have a spare hour.” Unless she were to give up running with Tucker. She couldn’t make herself mention that.

Pauline slumped, utterly dispirited.

“Oh, Mother, I hate to disappoint you.”

“I can drive,” said Agnes.

“Well, there!” said Pauline, reviving. “Agnes can teach me.”

Justine suddenly felt very tired. “Agnes, you haven’t had a driver’s license since you broke your hip…that was before Philip and I married.”

“Is a license necessary to learn?” asked Pauline. “Out here in these woods? When we arrived, we drove for miles and miles on a dirt path.”

“A country road is not a dirt path.” Justine leaned forward. “Mother, you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for—”

“If Agnes is willing to teach me, I don’t see why you should object.”

“Though that’s no small consideration, that’s not what I meant. You’re going to run into sexism, age discrimination—I don’t think you can handle it.”

“Those things are against the law. Anyway, I handled your father for better than forty years. I do have some experience.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why are you being so mulish? I want to be independent. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Aren’t you making your own decisions, deciding where you want to live, how to spend your money? I want to do that, too. Only I have to make some money first. Besides, I like the idea of getting a job. I have so much time on my hands. I never had a hobby, unless it was shopping. I can’t even do that now.”

“If she had a job, she’d be out of the house most of the day,” said Agnes, voicing a dubious defense on behalf of her prime antagonist.

“That’s the most appealing part mentioned so far. But I have to raise my main objection—I can’t be stuck out here without transportation all day. Suppose one of the children got hurt? Or Agnes got sick?”

“Can we cross that bridge when we come to it?” pleaded Pauline. “I know it won’t be soon, but eventually your father’s estate and the bankruptcy will be settled. The lawyers say I’ll get what’s left. It’s bound to be enough to buy a car—used,” she emphasized quickly to ward off the skepticism spreading over her daughter’s face.

Justine moved out from under her mother’s gaze to the porch. The storm had spent itself, the rain now little more than drizzle, and that mostly dripping from porch eaves and trees. Frogs were beginning to chirrup; a lone hen, feathers wet and bedraggled, scratched in weeds.

Justine was caught up in a classic case of role reversal. She could not issue a cavalier refusal. Her mother had to find her place in life as she herself was trying to do. And much as she would like to, she couldn’t protect Pauline from failure, or what the working world was all about.

The rain-washed air was cool, freshening. Justine hugged herself and turned back into the house. “All right, Mother, I’ll go along with it. Give it your best shot.”

“I would never do less. This is important to me.” She turned to Agnes. “I’m accepting your offer to teach me to drive. However—”

Agnes tucked her chin down in her attack position. “However what?”

Pauline faltered. “Dear me. What I was going to say slipped right out of my mind.”

“There’s a car at the top of the drive,” Justine commented. “It may be the mailman. Yes,” she said, moving to get a better look. “It is.”

“Finally!” exclaimed Agnes. “I’ll send Pip.”

“Well, now that the ills of the world are solved, does anyone mind if I get back to putting my office together?”

“Why no,” said Pauline. “Work as late as you like. Goodness me! I feel so energetic, I think I’ll even prepare supper.”

Justine paused. “You might think of heating up that chili you opened last night, put it with some wieners.”

“I didn’t open any chili. I loathe chili. Did you ever know cook to serve chili?” She shuddered. “Heavens! It’s made from stuff that grows between cow toes.”

“Mother, where did you hear that?”

“Your father told me.”

“He was putting you on. Cows don’t have toes. They have hooves.”

“Do we have any lamb chops? I could manage lamb.”

“Manage the chili, add hot dogs, chopped onion, pickle relish, and mustard.”

Pauline frowned. “If you say so. But once I have a job, I’m buying some real food and I’m going to hire a cook to prepare it.”

Justine rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll hold my breath.”

“Daughter, you are sadly lacking in respect for your elders.”

“I love you, though.”

Pauline scoffed. “Small compensation.”

—  •  —

“Wait a minute!” Justine yelped as Tucker veered right, onto a path bracketed with thick wood instead of making an about-face at the fenced-off dead end.

“I told you I was going to run your socks off. C’mon.”

“I thought you meant a faster run, not longer.” She held on to the sturdy wooden railing, doing knee bends in an effort to stop the quivering in her calves.

“You shoulda read my mind. Stop holding up that fence. Best part of the run is yet to come.”

“I did my best part. I gave up cigarettes so I could get this far.” She also had on her best pair of cuffed shorts, white with green piping, zipper at the side and a sleeveless shirt, tails tied at her waist. Her hair was plaited, loose golden wisps held off her face with a pink sweatband left over from aerobics class. She had not gone so far as to apply cosmetics, but she thought she looked presentable. Had looked presentable. Now the blouse was glued to her by rivulets of sweat.

By comparison, Tucker had yet to take an extra breath and his sweatband had yet to serve any more purpose than to emphasize features that looked to have been chiseled whole from hardwood. However, though his mustache was bristly and luxuriant as usual, his jaw was clean-shaven. Yesterday he had worn beard stubble. Perhaps he had shaved this morning for her benefit. The idea sent a quick thin sliver of delight through her body.

“A two-minute rest,” he said. “Then, we’ll go on.” Tucker decided he couldn’t allow more than that. He couldn’t be around her without being involved in some activity. She had been on his mind all yesterday and all night: miserable night rife with gnawing dreams of her.

He swung his arms to counter the urge to touch her. Justine stopped doing knee bends to peer in the direction Tucker meant for them to run. Tall trees and underbrush flanked the path as if reluctant to allow even that narrow a passage. It looked a jungle in there, thick with vines and creepers and tree ferns. No doubt it was home to all manner of wildlife.

“Let’s just go back on the road,” she suggested.

His dark eyes danced and teased. “Not afraid that I might drag you off into the bushes and ravish you, are you?”

“Tucker, you’re a man who has charmed my mother, charmed my children, charmed me. I’m a city girl. I was thinking more along the line of snakes and lizards.”

“A snake wouldn’t dare strike at you, not while you’re with me.” He couldn’t help himself, he leaned into her space. She smelled flowery. He liked
it…
a lot. “Charmed by me, you say?”

She remained silent.

He looked beyond her shoulder, contriving to appear unaffected. “Just wondering.”

Justine gave in. He was so appealing it was hard not to. “Yes, I’m charmed by you—a little. You’re flirting with me. I liked it yesterday and I like it now. You might as well know that’s as far as it’ll go. I’m not into men right now.”