Maude Brown's Baby (35 page)

“I don’t understand, Clayton.” Donald glanced again at Clara. “Mr. Payne seems capable enough.”

“Yes, Donald, he seems capable, but he is not. Without help—ours or someone else’s—he would be penniless in a year. Although Mr. Payne is one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, he is not fully in touch with reality. It wasn’t always so. I’m told that he was fine when he came to Galveston in 1899. When he lost you and your mother on the same day, and then your sister three years later, it hurt him terribly.”

“Is that when he began,
” Clara paused, searching for the right words. “Is that when he began to change?”

“Yes, he has changed, Clara. Mr. Payne is a proud
man who lives in the past. This …” Clayton swept his hand toward the rest of the room,  “this is the way he grew up. He is more comfortable thinking of us as servants, and Bridge and I don’t mind. It has become something of a game we play. I think Mr. Payne knows who we really are, but we never discuss it. The three of us live here as a household. We each have our role, and we function quite well.”

Donald pointed toward
the portraits of Jonathan and Melissa Payne hanging in the lighted alcove.

“Mr. Payne’s parents?”

“Both gone, God rest their souls.”

“Oh dear,” Clara breathed.
             

“But who pays your salary?”

“Bridget’s salary and mine are paid from a trust established by Sir Jonathan Payne’s will. A solicitor in London oversees the trust and we receive a monthly allowance, which I manage.”

Clayton sipped his coffee, then set the fragile china cup in its saucer. He looked directly at Donald.
             

“Sir Jonathan and Mrs. Payne passed away
more than two years ago. Soon after, Mr. Payne’s brother drove the family business on the rocks. There was little left of the shipping company or the estate, other than the fund that provides for Mr. Payne.”

“What about the car?”

“The Rolls Royce was truly a gift from Sir Jonathan to his son, just as he told you this afternoon, and it was part of the ruse that brought us here. Mr. Payne knew his son would not accept being cared for by strangers, but if the car arrived a gift, with me the chauffeur and Bridget as cook, then we fit perfectly into his world.”

Bridget, sitting beside her husband, nodded her head. “If it helps dear Mr. Payne for us to pretend,” she said, “then we don’t mind.”

“Clayton will drive you home,” Geoffrey called out. He walked slowly into the drawing room, sliding his slippers across the floor and steadying himself with his cane. His thinning hair was neatly brushed. A handsome silk dressing gown covered his pajamas, although Clara noticed that the hem of the gown had been repaired by someone whose talents didn’t extend to sewing.

“Donald, Clara, I seemed to have fallen asleep. Please forgive me.”

“Of course, sir.”

Bridget hastily gathered the coffee cups and set them on her tray as Clayton buttoned his tunic and rose to steady Mr. Payne. “Are you feeling well, sir?”

“Certainly Clayton, I just need to say goodnight to our guests.” He rested one hand on Donald’s shoulder and the other on his cane as they walked carefully toward the front of the house.             

Ahead, waiting in the foyer, Clayton begged with his eyes for Donald and Clara to continue the game. Donald nodded to assure Clayton, then turned to Geoffrey.

“Will you be all right, sir?”

“Of course
, Donald, I just need to stay here and rest my sore leg.”

“What happened to it?”

“A squash injury, I’m afraid.”

“You
squashed your leg?” When Clara laughed, Donald knew he’d said something foolish. Geoffrey smiled and put his arm over Donald’s shoulder, drawing him close.

“No, my boy, squash is a game you play in a closed room, using racquets and a small rubber ball. It was very big when my brother and I were students at Harrow. In fact, the game was invented there. I still love to play, although I seldom beat Clayton here.”

Clayton, hand on the door, grinned at the remark. Geoffrey looked at Clayton, clapped his hand on Donald’s shoulder, leaned closer and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’d think the fellow would be smart enough to let his boss win now and then, especially since I own the court where we play.”

Geoffrey shook Donald’s hand and kissed Clara’s. Once again he thanked her.
Donald agreed to return soon. For now, emotion overwhelmed him.

“Mind the steps,” Geoffrey called from the doorway.

The Rolls was still in the driveway. Clayton held the door for Clara and Donald to get in. The passenger compartment was even larger than Donald thought. He stretched his legs straight out and found a good twelve inches more between the tips of his toes and the back of the seat in front. Clara leaned forward to give Clayton her address.

When she settled back into the soft leather seat, she stopped near the center rather than sliding to one side. Her shoulder touched Donald’s in the darkness, and neither of them moved away. Clayton adjusted his rear view mirror, smiled to himself and set off, determined to find a longer, slower route to Clara’s house.

Donald smelled the fresh biscuits as soon as he stepped under the arbor. He took a moment to admire Clara’s victory garden in the early morning light.

“I enjoyed the
note from Naomi,” Clara said cheerfully when Donald opened the screen door. She had the north and south windows open, and a light cross-breeze gently moved the curtains.

“Good morning, Clara.”
             

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Help yourself to the coffee. I’ll have the eggs on in a moment. We meet your folks at the Interurban station at 10:00.”

“And the hospital ship will dock around noon?” Donald crossed the kitchen, filled his cup and refilled Clara’s before returning the pot to the stove. It was taking him longer than normal to wake up.

“That was yesterday’s wireless report
. I’ll telephone the hospital to confirm right after we eat.”

Donald opened the icebox
and set out the butter, cheese and strawberry preserves. Clara had already set the table. Each time they were together, he felt more at ease. Without being asked, he took a knife from the drawer and sliced the tomato.

Clara brought the biscuits and a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs to the table. Instead of sitting across from him, she took the end chair to sit diagonally at Donald’s right. Their knees almost touched.

“Donald?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to be shocked when you see Cletus.”

“Oh?”

“Aside from his injuries, he will almost certainly be different from the man you remember. He may seem older, or more quiet. He might anger easily. Every case is different, but he will have changed. The homecoming could be awkward, especially for Naomi and Clarence.”

“Thanks, Clara. Then we all have to be patient and help him as much as we can.”

“I know you will. I just want you to be prepared.”

“They’re not on this one, either,” Donald said, scanning the last of the passengers getting off of the 11:00 Interurban from Houston. He looked at his pocket watch and automatically checked it against the big clock high on the wall in the 21
st
Street terminal. “They should have been here an hour ago.”             

“Are they usually late?” A sudden gust of wind blew through the open station, causing Clara to clutch the side of her
skirt and put her hand on her student nurse’s cap to keep it from blowing off.

“They’re never late,” Donald said. “You could set your watch by either of them. Something must have happened.”

Clara looked around the platform, which was already clearing of passengers.

“Donald, you c
an stay here and wait for the next train, but I need to be with the other nurses on the dock when the hospital ship comes in.”

Donald didn’t like the idea of Clara leaving on her own, but he couldn’t think of anything better.

“All right, I suppose that’s best. You go ahead and I’ll …”

“ ‘Scuse me, sir,” an elderly porter said, tipping his cap.

“Yes?”

“Man outside says you got to come right now.” The porter pointed toward Church Street and indicated which way to turn.

“A man? What man?”

“I don’t know, sir. There was two white men and a woman. The lady was none too happy. One of the men says for me to look for a white man with thick glasses and tell him to come right away. I don’t see no one but you what fit the description. The big man give me a nickel to come find you.”

Donald dug a nickel from his pocket and pressed it into the porter’s rough hand.

“Thank you. Clara, let’s go.”

Clara held the side of her skirt with one hand and her cap with the other. The terminal, open as it was at both ends, funneled the wind. A sheet of newsprint tumbled wildly across the tracks. Donald put his hand on the back of Clara’s arm as they hurried toward the street and around the corner of the building. Donald saw Clarence first.

“What? Pa, you said you wouldn’t drive the car!”

“Nothin’ to it,” Clarence said, looking proud as Andrew Carnegie himself. He posed by the driver’s side, arm crooked on the door and right foot resting on the running board of his gleaming black Ford. The touring car was parked at an angle to the curb. The car’s black canvas top was up, and in the shadows Donald could see Naomi sitting in the back. She was not amused.

“Where’s Jake?”

“Now what makes you think Jake had somethin’ to do with this?”

“Where is he, Pa?”

Donald couldn’t help but laugh when he saw his friend strolling toward the car, whistling like a pedestrian just crossing the street. Jake acted surprised to see Clarence. He stopped, looking at the car as if seeing it for the first time.

“H
ello, Mr. Stokes.” Jake produced a long, slow whistle as his hand glided over a shiny fender. “Does this fine motor car belong to you?”               That was it. That was as long as they could manage the charade before both men laughed. Donald shook his head.

“You had us worried, Pa. Y
ou were supposed to be here an hour ago—on the trolley!” Clarence raised his hands in surrender as Jake helped Naomi from the opposite side of the car.

“I just couldn’t see buyin’ this fine automobile, then l
eave it sit in the garage. Jake come by yesterday and said he’d drive us down.”

Naomi stood next to Jake on the passenger side, not quite glaring at her husband, but close.

“You wanted to drive this car even though it took an extra hour and cost more than the train.”

“I
t didn’t, Mama, if you figure six dollars for three round-trip tickets and another ticket for Cletus one-way. We saved at least three dollars.”

“By the time you fix that flat tire, I suppose it will cost just as much, and it did take longer.”

Clarence started to protest, but Naomi adjusted her shoulders in a way that meant she’d finished what she had to say. She relaxed and smiled.

“Donald, are you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Oh! Clara, these are my folks, Naomi and Clarence Stokes. Ma, Pa, this is Clara Barnes.” Clarence tipped his bowler hat and Naomi stepped up onto the sidewalk to shake Clara’s hand.

“S
o nice to meet you, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stokes. That was a lovely note you sent.”

“Please, dear, call me Naomi.” The way Naomi smiled and patted the top of Clara’s hand let Donald know they were going to be friends.

Clarence rode up front. Donald sat with Clara and Naomi in the back. Jake even cranked the engine himself, the first time Donald had seen him do that in two years.

Jake guided the car to the corner and turned north on 22
nd
Street, driving from there to Wharf Road. He found a parking spot two blocks from the dock.

“I see some of my classmates.” Clara turned to Naomi. “You can wait over there in the shade. I need to tell them I’m here.”

Donald, Jake, Naomi and Clarence found a bench in a large warehouse that was open on one side to the wharf. Behind them, a handful of workers pushed two-wheeled carts full of trunks, suitcases and crates. The larger freight was being hauled on mule carts and drays. A noisy chain-drive truck had just finished delivering a load of cut lumber, but Donald guessed an average ox wagon could have hauled more with less smoke and fuss.

For all their effort, the men moving crates and luggage and lumber were just an incidental part of activity on the wharf. Cotton was king. Thousands of bales lined the open dock and filled the warehouse, awaiting shipment to markets around the world.

“Smoke?” Jake asked Clarence as he pulled a foil pouch and small pack of rolling papers from the side pocket of his coat.

“Thanks. Never acquired the habit. Besides, it’s a lot of bother to roll the darned things.”