[6]
[7]
[8]
[9]When Ella Barron woke up that morning, she didn’t expect
it to be a momentous day.
Her sleep hadn’t been interrupted by a subconscious
premonition. There had been no change in the weather, no sudden
shift in the atmosphere, no unusual sound to startle her awake.
As on most mornings, sleep released her gradually a half hour
before daylight. She yawned and stretched, her feet seeking cool
spots between the sheets. But catching another forty winks was out
of the question. To indulge in such a luxury would never have
crossed her mind. She had responsibilities, chores that
couldn’t be shirked or even postponed. She lay in bed only
long enough to remember what day of the week it was. Wash day.
She quickly made her bed, then checked on Solly, who was still
deep in slumber.
She dressed with customary efficiency. With no time for vanity,
she hastily twisted her long hair into a bun on the back of her
head and secured it with pins, then left her bedroom and made her
way to the kitchen, moving quietly so as not to awaken the others
in the house.
This was the only time of day when the kitchen was quiet and
cool. As the day progressed, heat was produced by the cookstove.
Heat seeped in from outside through the screened door and the
window above the sink. Even Ella’s own energy acted as a
generator.
Proportionately with the thermometer, the noise level rose, so
that by suppertime, the kitchen, which was the heart of the house,
took on a pulsating life of its own and didn’t settle into
cool repose until Ella extinguished the overhead light for the
final time, most often hours after her boarders had retired.
This morning, she didn’t pause to enjoy either the
relative coolness or the silence. Having put on her apron, she lit
the oven, put the coffee on to brew, then mixed the biscuit
dough.
Margaret arrived right on time, and after removing her hat and
hanging it on the peg inside the door, and gratefully taking a tin
cup of sweetened coffee from Ella, she went back outside to fill
the washing machine with water for the first load of laundry. The
prospect of buying an electric-powered washing machine was so
remote that Ella didn’t even dream about it. For her
foreseeable future she must continue using the one with the
hand-crank wringer that had been her mother’s. Suds and rinse
water from the tub were drained into a ditch that ran alongside the
shed where the washer was housed.
On a summer day like today, the washing shed became stifling by
midmorning. But wet laundry seemed heavier when one’s hands
were raw and numb from cold during the winter months. In any
season, laundry days were dreaded. By nightfall her back would be
aching.
Solly, still in his pajamas, wandered into the kitchen while she
was frying bacon.
Breakfast was served at eight.
By nine o’clock everyone had been fed, the dishes washed,
dried, and put away. Ella set a pot of mustard greens on the stove
to simmer all day, cooked a pan of Faultless starch, then, taking
Solly with her, went outside to hang up the first basket of laundry
that Margaret had washed, rinsed, and wrung out. It was almost
eleven o’clock when she went inside to check on things in the
kitchen. While she was adding a little more salt to the greens,
someone pulled the bell at her front door. As she walked along the
dim center hall, she dried her hands on her apron and glanced at
herself in the wall mirror. Her face was flushed and damp from the
heat, and her heavy bun had defied the pins and slipped down onto
her nape, but she continued to the door without stopping to
primp.
On the other side of the threshold, squinting at her through the
screened door, was Dr. Kincaid. “Morning, Mrs. Barron.”
His white straw hat had a natty red cloth band, striated with
generations of sweat stains. He removed it and held it against his
chest in a rather courtly manner.
She was surprised to see the doctor on her porch, but still
nothing signaled her that this would be an extraordinary day. Dr.
Kincaid’s office was in the center of town on Hill Street,
but he also made house calls, usually to deliver a baby, sometimes
to keep a contagious patient from spreading his infection through
Gilead, their town of two thousand.
Ella herself had summoned the doctor to the house a couple of
years ago when one of her boarders fell out of his bed during the
middle of the night. Mr. Blackwell, an elderly gentleman who
fortunately had been more embarrassed than injured, protested even
as Dr. Kincaid agreed with Ella that he probably should be
thoroughly examined just as a precaution. Mr. Blackwell no longer
lived with her. Shortly after that incident, his family had moved
him to a home for the elderly in Waco. Mr. Blackwell had futilely
protested his involuntary relocation, too.
Had one of her boarders sent for the doctor today? Little in the
house escaped Ella’s notice, but she’d been outside
most of the morning, so it was possible that one of the sisters had
used the telephone without her knowledge.
“Good morning, Dr. Kincaid. Did one of the Dunnes send for
you?”
“No. I’m not here on a sick call.”
“Then what can I do for you?”
“Is this a bad time?”
She thought of the clothes piled into baskets and ready to be
starched, but the starch needed a while longer to cool. “Not
at all. Come in.” She reached up to unlatch the screened door
and pushed it open.
Dr. Kincaid turned to his right and made a come-forward motion
with his hat. Ella was unaware of the other man’s presence
until he stepped around the large fern at the side of the front
door and into her range of vision.
Her first impression of him was how tall and lean he was. One
could almost say he looked underfed. He was dressed in a black suit
with a white shirt and black necktie, and was holding a black felt
fedora. She thought his clothes looked severe and out of season for
such a hot morning, especially compared to Dr. Kincaid’s
seersucker suit and white hat with the red band. The doctor made
the introduction. “Mrs. Barron, this is Mr.
Rainwater.”
He inclined his head. “Ma’am.”
“Mr. Rainwater.”
She moved aside and indicated for them to come inside. Dr.
Kincaid allowed the other man to go in ahead of him. A few steps
into the foyer, he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the relative
darkness. Then he took in his surroundings as he idly threaded the
brim of his hat through long, slender fingers. “In here,
please.” Ella stepped around her two guests and motioned them
into the formal parlor. “Have a seat.”
“We thought we heard the doorbell.”
The chirping voice brought Ella around. The Misses Dunne, Violet
and Pearl, were standing on the bottom stair. In their pastel print
dresses and old-fashioned shoes, they were virtually
interchangeable. Each had a nimbus of white hair. Their veined,
spotted hands clutched matching handkerchiefs, daintily hemmed and
hand-embroidered by their mother, they’d told Ella.
With unabashed curiosity, the two were looking beyond Ella to
catch a glimpse of the visitors. Having callers was an event.
“Is that Dr. Kincaid?” asked Pearl, the more
inquisitive of the two. “Hello, Dr. Kincaid,” she
called.
“Good morning, Miss Pearl.”
“Who’s that with you?”
Miss Violet frowned at her sister with reproof. “We were
coming down to play gin rummy until lunch,” she whispered to
Ella. “Will we disturb?”
“Not at all.”
Ella asked them to use the informal parlor and led them to it.
When they were situated at the card table, she said, “Please
excuse us, ladies,” and pulled together the heavy oak pocket
doors that divided the large room in half. She rejoined the two men
in the formal side, which overlooked the front porch. Despite her
invitation for them to sit down, they had remained standing.
Dr. Kincaid was fanning himself with his hat. Ella switched on
the fan on the table in the corner, directed the stream of air
toward him, then motioned the men toward a pair of wingback chairs.
“Please.”
They sat when she did.
This being summer, and wash day, she hadn’t put on
stockings that morning. Embarrassed by her bare legs, she crossed
her ankles and pulled her feet beneath the chair. “Would you
like some lemonade? Or tea?”
“That sounds awfully good, Mrs. Barron, but I’m
afraid I have to pass,” the doctor said. “I’ve
got patients to see at the clinic.”
She looked at Mr. Rainwater.
“No thank you,” he said.
Returning to the kitchen would have given her an opportunity to
remove her apron, which had a damp patch where she’d dried
her hands, and to pin her bun more securely. But since her guests
had declined the offer of a drink, she was stuck looking untidy for
the remainder of their visit, the purpose of which hadn’t yet
been stated. She wondered what Solly was up to and how long this
unexpected meeting was going to take. She hoped Mr. Rainwater
wasn’t a salesman. She didn’t have time to sit through
his pitch, only to say no to whatever it was he was peddling.
The smell of simmering mustard greens was strong, even here in
the front parlor. The doctor withdrew a large white handkerchief
from his coat pocket and used it to blot sweat from his balding
head. A yellow jacket flew into the window screen and continued
angrily to try to go through it. The hum of the electric fan seemed
as loud as a buzz saw.
She was relieved when Dr. Kincaid cleared his throat and said,
“I heard you lost a boarder.”
“That’s right. Mrs. Morton went to live with an
ailing sister. Somewhere in eastern Louisiana, I
believe.”
“Quite a piece from here,” he remarked.
“Her nephew came to escort her on the train.”
“Nice for her, I’m sure. Have you had anyone speak
for her room?”
“She only left the day before yesterday. I haven’t
had time to advertise.”
“Well then, that’s good, that’s good,”
the doctor said and began fanning himself enthusiastically, as
though in celebration of something.
Discerning now the purpose for their call, she looked at Mr.
Rainwater. He sat leaning slightly forward with both feet on the
floor. His black shoes were shined, she noticed. His thick, dark
hair was smoothed back off his face, but one strand, as straight
and shiny as a satin ribbon, had defiantly flopped over his broad
forehead. His cheekbones were pronounced, his eyebrows as sleek and
black as crows’ wings. He had startling blue eyes, and they
were steady on her.
“Are you interested in lodging, Mr. Rainwater?”
“Yes. I need a place to stay.”
“I haven’t had a chance to give the vacant room a
thorough cleaning, but as soon as it’s ready, I’d be
happy to show it to you.”
“I’m not particular.” He smiled, showing teeth
that were very white, although slightly crooked on the top.
“I’ll take the room as is.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I couldn’t let you have it
now,” she said quickly. “Not until I’ve aired the
bedding, scrubbed everything, polished the floor. I have very high
standards.”
“For boarders or cleanliness?”
“For both.”
“Which is why I’ve brought him to you,” the
doctor said hastily. “I told Mr. Rainwater that you keep an
immaculate house and run a tight ship. To say nothing of the
excellent meals your boarders enjoy. He desires a place
that’s well maintained. A peaceful and quiet
house.”
Just then, from the direction of the kitchen, came a terrible
racket followed by a bloodcurdling scream.
Chapter Two
Ella was out of her chair like a shot. “Excuse me.”
She ran from the parlor and down the hallway, bursting into the
kitchen, where Solly was standing in the middle of the floor,
screeching at the top of his voice and holding his left arm away
from his body as stiff as a ramrod.
Hot starch had spattered his arm from wrist to shoulder. Some
had splashed onto his chest, plastering his cotton shirt to his
skin. The pan which had been on the stove was now lying overturned
on the floor. The sticky blue stuff was oozing out of it, forming a
wide puddle.
Heedless of the mess, Ella lifted her son and hugged him to her.
“Oh no, oh, God. Solly, Solly, oh, sweetheart. Oh,
Lord.”
“Cold water.” Dr. Kincaid had rushed into the
kitchen practically on her heels and had immediately assessed the
situation. He pushed her toward the sink and turned on the cold
water spout, forcing Solly’s arm beneath the stream.
“Do you have ice?”
Mr. Rainwater addressed the question to Margaret, who’d
come rushing in from the backyard, calling on Jesus for help even
before determining the nature of the catastrophe.
Since Margaret seemed incapable of answering him, Ella shouted
above Solly’s screams. “There’s ice in the box. A
whole block delivered just this morning.”
She and Dr. Kincaid continued to struggle with the boy to keep
his burned arm under the gush of cold water. Ella splashed handfuls
of it onto his shirt, trying to neutralize the starch that was
burning him through the thin fabric.
None of this was easily done. They had to battle Solly, whose
right arm was flailing about, often connecting painfully with
either Ella or the doctor. The boy was also trying to butt heads
with them and kicking his feet. Several pieces of crockery and
china were knocked off the drainboard and onto the floor, breaking
in the widening puddle of starch.
“This will help.” Mr. Rainwater moved up beside Ella
with a chunk of freshly chipped ice. While she and Dr. Kincaid held
Solly’s arm as still as possible, Mr. Rainwater rubbed the
ice up and down her child’s arm, which now bore ugly red
splotches. The ice cooled the burns, and eventually Solly stopped
screaming, but he continued to bob his head rhythmically. The
doctor turned off the tap. Ella noticed that the sleeves of his
coat were wet to his elbows and realized that her apron and dress
were drenched as well.
“Thank you.” She took what was left of the chunk of
ice from Mr. Rainwater and continued to rub it up and down
Solly’s arm as she carried him to a chair and sat down with
him on her lap. She hugged him close and kissed the top of his head
as she cradled him tightly against her chest. Even then it took
several minutes before he stopped the rhythmic bobbing of his
head.
From the open doorway, the two Dunne spinsters cooed
commiseration and encouragement.
Margaret was holding the hem of her apron to her lips with one
hand, the other pink palm was raised beseechingly toward the
ceiling. She was crying loudly and praying plaintively,
“Jesus, he’p this poor baby. Lord Jesus, he’p
this child.”
Ella was grateful for Margaret’s prayers and hoped the
Lord was listening, but the loud praying was adding to the
confusion. “Margaret, please bring me one of his candy
sticks,” she said. Her quiet tone cut through
Margaret’s fervent litany. She ceased praying, smoothed her
apron back into place, and went into the pantry, where Ella kept a
jar of candy sticks hidden behind canisters of flour and sugar. If
Solly spotted the candy, he demanded it by lying on the floor and
kicking until he either exhausted himself or exhausted Ella to the
point of giving in just to restore the peace.
The candy sticks were reserved for times of crisis. Like now.
Margaret was choking back sobs. “It’s my fault. He was
playin’
there in the dirt. You know how he likes to dig with that big
wood spoon? I turned my back, couldn’t’ve been
more’n half a minute, to throw that bedsheet over the
clothesline. Next I know, he’s in the house
a-screamin’. I’m sorry, Miss Ella. I---”
“It wasn’t your fault, Margaret. I know how quickly
he can disappear.”
Margaret muttered on about how she was to blame as she brought
the candy jar from the pantry, lifted off the metal lid, and
extended it to Solly. “Margaret ain’t ever gonna
forgive herself for this. No she ain’t. What flavor you want,
baby doll?” Solly remained unaware of Margaret, so Ella
selected for him, a white stick with orange stripes. She
didn’t hand it to him directly but laid it on the table. He
picked it up and began to lick. Everyone in the kitchen sighed with
relief.
“Let me take a look at the burns.”
“No.” Ella held up her hand to prevent the doctor
from moving any closer and setting Solly off again. “The
spots aren’t blistering, and the starch had been cooling for
over two hours. It wasn’t that hot. When he pulled the pan
off the stove and the starch splashed on him, I think it frightened
him more than anything.”
“It’s a good thing it wasn’t---”
Miss Pearl’s comment was stopped abruptly, probably when
she got an elbow in the ribs from her more tactful sister. But Ella
knew what Miss Pearl was thinking, what everyone including herself
was thinking: It was a good thing Solly hadn’t pulled the
stewing greens off the stove and onto himself.
Ella smoothed her hand over her son’s head, but he dodged
the caress. The rejection pierced her heart, but she looked at the
others and smiled bravely. “I think the crisis has
passed.”
“I have some salve at the clinic,” the doctor said.
“Even though the skin’s not blistered, it
wouldn’t hurt to keep it lubricated for a day or
two.”
Ella nodded and looked over at Mr. Rainwater, who was hovering
near the stove, as though guarding against another accident.
“The ice helped. Thank you.”
He nodded.
She said, “About the room---”
“See, I told you he was to be a new boarder.” Miss
Pearl spoke to her sister in a whisper which everyone heard.
“We’ll excuse ourselves until lunch.” Miss
Violet grasped her sister’s arm with enough pressure to make
her wince and practically dragged her toward the staircase. Miss
Pearl was still whispering excitedly as they made their way up.
“He seems awfully nice, don’t you think, Sister? Very
clean fingernails. I wonder who his people are.”
Ella eased Solly off her lap and into the chair in which she was
seated. She made a futile attempt to smooth back strands of hair
that had shaken loose from her bun. Responding to the humidity
created by the cooking pot of greens, her hair had formed unruly
spirals on both sides of her face.
“As I was saying, Mr. Rainwater, I haven’t had time
to give the room a thorough cleaning. If you’re wanting to
move in immediately---”
“I am.”
“You can’t.”
“Then when?”
“When the room meets my standards.”
The statement seemed to amuse him, and she wondered if his quick
grin was mocking her standards or her pride in them. In either
case, she resented it. “In light of what the last quarter
hour has been like, I’m surprised you’re still
interested in securing a room in my house, especially if it’s
peace and quiet you’re after. You haven’t even seen the
room yet.”
“Then let’s take a look,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“But I really must get back to the clinic soon.”
Mr. Rainwater said, “You don’t have to stay,
Murdy.” Dr. Kincaid’s first name was Murdock, but Ella
had never heard him addressed as Murdy, not even by close
acquaintances.
“No, no, I want to help any way I can.” The doctor
turned to her. “Mrs. Barron?”
She glanced down at Solly, who had eaten half his candy stick.
Margaret, sensing her hesitation, said, “You go on with the
gentlemen. I’ll keep an eagle eye on this boy. I swear I
won’t take my eyes off him.”
Reluctantly Ella led the two men from the kitchen and up the
stairs, then down the hallway to the room at the end of it. Opening
the door, she said, “It’s got a nice southern exposure.
You can catch the breeze.”
The sheer curtains now catching the breeze were ruffled. The
wallpaper had a yellow cabbage rose pattern, and the iron bed
looked too short for Mr. Rainwater. In fact, even though he was
slender, the room looked smaller with him standing in its center,
much smaller than when Mrs. Morton had occupied it.
But he seemed either not to notice or not to care about the
feminine decor or the limited size of the bed, the room, or the
narrow closet. He looked out the window, nodded, then turned back
to her and the doctor. “This will do.”
“You would share a bathroom with Mr. Hastings.”
“Chester Hastings,” Dr. Kincaid supplied.
“Extremely nice man. He’s not in town much. Notions
salesman. Travels all over.”
“I don’t have a problem with sharing a
bathroom,” Mr. Rainwater said.
On the way downstairs, Ella told him the cost for room and
board, and by the time they reached the ground floor he had agreed
to it.
“Splendid,” Dr. Kincaid said. “I’ll let
the two of you work out the particulars about moving in and so
forth.”
Ella hesitated and glanced toward the kitchen. Margaret was
softly humming a hymn, which usually soothed Solly. Com- forting
him would also help alleviate Margaret’s guilt, so Ella
decided she could spare another few minutes.
“I’ll see you out.” She led the way to the
front door, but when she got there, she discovered that only Dr.
Kincaid had followed her. Behind them the hallway was empty.
Presumably Mr. Rainwater had ducked into the parlor, waiting there
to discuss the details of his occupancy.
“Can I have a word, Mrs. Barron?” the doctor asked.
Only moments ago, he had seemed in such a hurry to leave that she
looked at him curiously as he pushed open the screened door and
ushered her out onto the porch.
The overhang formed by the second story of the house had trapped
the heat as well as the heady fragrance of gardenia. The shrub,
laden with creamy white blossoms, grew in a pot she kept at the end
of the porch.
Two summers ago she’d had a boarder who complained of the
fragrance being cloying and giving him headaches. Ella attributed
his headaches less to the aromatic blossoms and more to the corn
liquor he sipped from a silver flask when he thought no one was
looking. When she reminded him that she didn’t allow spirits
in the house, he’d been affronted.
“Are you referring to my cough remedy, Mrs. Barron?”
Short of calling him a liar, she couldn’t challenge him
further, but he also never again complained about the
gardenias.
She’d been relieved when he’d moved out and the more
genial Mr. Hastings had moved in.
Again the doctor dabbed his bald head with his handkerchief.
“I wanted to speak to you in private.”
“About Solly?”
“Well, that, yes.”
They’d had this discussion many times before. Bracing for
an argument, she clasped her hands at her waist. “I refuse to
place him in an institution, Dr. Kincaid.”
“I haven’t suggested---”
“I also refuse to keep him medicated.”
“So you’ve told me. Many times.”
“Then please stop trying to persuade me
otherwise.”
“What happened just now---”
“Could have happened to any child,” she said.
“Remember when the Hinnegar boy turned that kerosene lamp
over on himself last winter?”
“That boy is two years old, Mrs. Barron. Solly is
ten.”
“His birthday is still months away.”
“Close enough.” Softening his tone, the doctor
continued.
“I’m well aware of the perils inherent to childhood.
Based on what I’ve seen during my years of general practice,
it’s amazing to me that any of us reaches
adulthood.”
He paused, took a breath, then looked at her kindly. “But
your boy is particularly susceptible to mishaps. Even at his age,
Solly can’t understand the dangers associated with something
like pulling a pan of hot starch off the stove. And then when there
is an accident, his reaction is a violent outburst. As it was
today.”
“He was burned, he was screaming in pain. Anyone would
scream.”
“By my speaking to you plainly, please don’t think
I’m being insensitive or unnecessarily cruel. It’s your
situation that’s cruel. The fact is, without medication to
suppress your son’s... impulses, he could harm himself and
others, especially when he’s in the throes of one of his
fits.”
“I keep careful watch over him to prevent that.”
“I don’t question how dutiful---”
“It’s not my duty, it’s my privilege. Only the
running of this house prevents me from devoting every waking moment
to Solly. This morning was an exception, not the rule. I was
unexpectedly called away.”
That was a subtle reminder that he was responsible for her
distraction, but the doctor ignored the rebuke.
“You bring me to the next point, Mrs. Barron. This
constant vigilance is also detrimental to your health. How
long can you keep it up?”
“For as long as Solly needs supervision.”
“Which in all likelihood will be for the rest of his life.
What happens when he outgrows you and you can no longer physically
restrain him?”
She forced herself to unclench her hands. In a slow and
deliberate voice she said, “The medications you’re
suggesting to suppress his impulses would also inhibit his ability
to learn.”
Her saying that caused the doctor’s eyes to become even
kinder, sadder, more pitying.
She took umbrage. “I know you doubt Solly’s capacity
to learn, Dr. Kincaid. I do not. I won’t rob him of the
opportunity just because it would make my life easier. I
won’t have him drugged into a stupor, where he would be
breathing but little else. What kind of life would he
have?”
“What kind of life do you have?” he asked
gently. She drew herself up to her full height. Her face was hot
with indignation. “I appreciate your professional opinion,
Dr. Kincaid. But that’s all it is, an opinion. No
one really knows what Solly is or isn’t capable of
understanding and retaining. But as his mother, I have a better
perception of his abilities than anyone. So I must do what I think
is best for him.”
Yielding the battle if not the war, the doctor glanced away from
her toward the clump of larkspur growing at the edge of her yard.
Their blue spikes were wilting in the noon heat. “Send
Margaret ’round for that salve,” he finally said.
“Thank you.”
“No charge.”
“Thank you.”
The street was deserted except for a spotted brown and white dog
that was trotting alongside a wagon driven by an elderly black man
and pulled by a pair of plodding mules. The man tipped his hat to
them as the wagon rolled past. They waved back at him. Ella
didn’t know him, but the doctor addressed him by name and
called out a greeting.
“If that’s all, Dr. Kincaid, I need to set out
lunch.”
He turned back to her. “Actually, there is something else,
Mrs. Barron. About Mr. Rainwater.”
Other than his name, and his willingness to pay her fee for room
and board, she knew nothing about the man. She was taking him in as
a boarder based solely upon Dr. Kincaid’s implied
recommendation. “Is he a man of good character?”
“Impeccable character.”
“You’ve known him for a long time?”
“He’s my wife’s late cousin’s boy. I
guess that makes him some sort of a second or third cousin by
marriage.”
“I guessed he might be an old friend or family member. He
called you Murdy.”
Absently he nodded. “Family nickname.”
“Is he in the medical profession, too?”
“No. He was a cotton broker.”
“Was?” Was Mr. Rainwater a victim of the
Depression, one of the thousands of men in the nation who were out
of work? “If he’s unemployed, how does he plan to pay
his rent? I can’t afford---”
“He’s not without funds. He’s...” The
doctor looked toward the retreating wagon and continued watching it
as it rounded the corner. Coming back to her, he said, “The
fact is, he won’t be needing the room in your house for
long.”
She stared at him, waiting.
Softly he said, “He’s dying.”
Chapter Three
“Please, Mr. Rainwater. Leave that.”
He was crouched, picking pieces of broken china off the kitchen
linoleum. He glanced up at her but continued what he was doing.
“I’m afraid the boy will hurt himself again.”
“Margaret and I will tend to the mess, and to
Solly.”
Margaret was at the stove drizzling bacon grease from that
morning’s breakfast into the greens. Solly was sitting in his
customary chair at the kitchen table, rocking back and forth,
fiddling with a yo-yo that Margaret must have given him from his
box of toys. He wound the string around his index finger, unwound
it. His concentration was fixed on the winding and rewinding.
The crisis had passed, and he didn’t appear to be
suffering any lasting effects, but would she know if he were? She
had to take his passivity as a good sign. Looking at his blond head
bowed over the yo-yo, she felt the familiar pinching sensation deep
within her heart, a mix of unqualified love and the fear that even
that might not be sufficient to protect him.
Mr. Rainwater came to his feet and held out his hands. Ella took
the dustpan off the nail from which it hung on the wall and
extended it to him. He carefully placed the chips of broken
dishware in it. “Those are the larger pieces. There are some
slivers I couldn’t pick out of the starch.”
“We’ll watch for them when we clean up.”
He turned to the sink and washed the starch off his hands, then
dried them on a dish towel. She would have felt awkward making
herself so at home in someone else’s kitchen, especially a
stranger’s. He seemed to suffer no such
self-consciousness.
She set the dustpan on the floor in the corner. “Margaret,
could you get out the lunch things while I speak with Mr.
Rainwater?”
“Yes, ma’am. You want me to get this baby’s
lunch, too?”
“Please. Peel an orange and section it. A butter and grape
jelly sandwich, cut in half. Put them on the blue plate he
likes.”
“Yes, ma’am. You tend to the gentleman here.”
She smiled at Mr. Rainwater, obviously pleased that he was about to
join the household. His willingness to help during an emergency
situation had earned her hard-won approval. “Them sheets need
hanging, but they can keep till after lunch.”
“Thank you, Margaret.” Ella turned and gestured the
man toward the hallway. “Mr. Rainwater?”
“We can talk here.”
Ella preferred not to discuss business in the kitchen, where, as
anticipated, the temperature had climbed. She was also worried
about the sheets in the washtub that needed to be wrung through the
wringer, probably twice, before being hung on the clothesline to
dry. She was afraid that Margaret would get heavy-handed with the
bacon grease, which she was prone to do. Margaret was also a
gossip. On several occasions Ella had been forced to chide her for
sharing personal information about their boarders and about Ella
herself.
Her major concern, however, was Solly, although the red marks on
his skin had faded so they were barely visible now, and the burns
didn’t seem to be hurting him. For the moment he was
pacified.
She wasn’t. The accident with the starch had left her
frazzled and distracted. She’d been further shaken by what
Dr. Kincaid had told her about Mr. Rainwater. Although her
livelihood depended on keeping her house filled to capacity, to
take in a dying man was an unappealing prospect on numerous levels,
not the least of which was that she already had her hands full,
what with keeping her other boarders happy and dealing with
Solly.
However, Mr. Rainwater’s unfortunate circumstance was the
only hindrance to his being a suitable boarder. On that basis
alone, how could she live with her conscience if she refused to
rent the room to him?
Dr. Kincaid should have informed her of his condition first,
before she’d agreed to let him the room. Mr. Rainwater should
have told her himself. The omission had left her at a distinct
disadvantage, and he was placing her at one now by discussing
business in the presence of her talkative maid.
Trying to keep the resentment from her voice, she said,
“You’ll find envelopes in your nightstand drawer.
There’s a collection box for your rent on a table under the
stairs. I collect the rent each Monday, but you’ll pay me the
first week in advance before you move in. Is that
satisfactory?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“To avoid confusion, don’t forget to write your name
on the envelope before leaving it in the box.”
“I won’t.”
Knowing what she now did, she found his steady gaze even more
unsettling. She was relieved when Margaret drew his attention.
“Here, sweet pea. Here’s your lunch fixed just the way
you like it.” She set the blue plate on the table in front of
Solly.
Solly didn’t respond either to Margaret or to the food. He
continued to rock, continued to wind the yo-yo string around his
finger.
“About meals,” Ella said, drawing Mr.
Rainwater’s attention back to her. “A full breakfast is
served each morning at eight o’clock, but you can get coffee
here in the kitchen before that. Dinner is at six-thirty. So as not
to waste food, I would appreciate being notified if you plan to
have a meal out.”
“I doubt I’ll have any meals out.”
If he hadn’t been there, she would have pulled the pins
from her bun and shaken it loose. It had slipped farther down onto
her neck, where it felt hot and heavy. “For lunch, I put out
cold cuts, cheese, fruit. Sometimes leftovers.” She motioned
toward Margaret, who was unwrapping slices of ham from waxed
butcher paper. “It’s on the dining table between noon
and one, and it’s first come, first served.” She
glanced at the wall clock. “I’m running a bit late
today, but the Dunnes rarely eat more than a piece of fruit anyway,
and Mr. Hastings is out of town.”
“Are they your only boarders, besides myself?”
She nodded. “The sisters share the largest room, at the
opposite end of the hall from yours. Mr. Hastings has the room at
the top of the stairs.”
“And you and Solly?”
“Here on the ground floor. On Sunday,” she said
briskly, “I serve the main meal at two o’clock. That
gives me time to return from church. Everyone is on their own for
Sunday night supper, but the kitchen is open for your use. I only
ask that you clean up after yourself.”
“Of course.”
“Is there anything you shouldn’t eat?” She
asked that of all her new boarders, although it might appear to him
that she had singled him out because of his illness.
As though following her thoughts, he gave a faint smile.
“I can eat anything, and I’m not a picky
eater.”
“Any questions so far?”
“When may I move in?”
Dodging that for the moment, she pressed on. “Bed linens
are changed once a week. I ask that you use only three towels
between wash days. Keep the bathroom tidy as a courtesy to Mr.
Hastings. He’s expected to do the same for you. If you have
any complaints, bring them to me.
“I don’t allow liquor in the house. I expect basic,
common courtesy and sensitivity to the other tenants’ privacy
and comfort. If you have visitors, you can receive them in the
formal parlor, but please give me notice. Arrangements can be made
for refreshments to be served to guests. For a nominal charge you
can have a guest for dinner, but only if I’m informed ahead
of time.”
“I won’t have any visitors, no guests for
dinner.”
His eyes burned as intensely, as blue, as the pilot light on her
stove. They arrested her for a moment, then she looked away.
“I’ll give you the post office box number so you can
pass it along to your family and friends.”
“I’ll be very surprised if I receive any
mail.”
“Well, in case you do, only I have the key to the box.
I’ll leave your mail in your room. You can rely on my
discretion.”
“I’m certain of that.”
“Does all of this sound acceptable, Mr.
Rainwater?”
Having waited patiently for her to go over the rules of the
house, he repeated, “When may I move in?”
That was the third time he’d asked. Understandably. Time
would be an issue to a man for whom, according to Dr. Kincaid, time
was short.
“Tuesday.”
“This is Thursday.”
“As I explained, the room needs to be cleaned. Can you
continue to stay with Dr. and Mrs. Kincaid until the room is
ready?”
“I’ve been with them for two nights already.
They’ve been very hospitable and have given me the use of
their boys’ bedroom. But the boys are having to sleep on
pallets in the living room, inconveniencing everyone. I’d
like to move in tomorrow at the latest.”
“The room won’t be ready by then. This is wash day.
Margaret and I can’t postpone doing the laundry in order to
prepare the room for you. The furniture must be removed so the
floor can be scrubbed. The mattress and pillows need to be taken
out and aired.” With irritation, she brushed back a lock of
hair that was clinging to her cheek. “I can’t possibly
get everything done by tomorrow.”
“My new preacher’s looking for work.”
Ella looked toward Margaret. “What?”
“Brother Calvin,” she said. “He just come to
town to take over the pulpit. But our congregation can’t pay
him nothing. He’s sleeping on a member’s porch, and
they’s feeding him, but he’s wanting to earn some money
so he can get a place of his own and move his wife here.
She’s down in South Texas with her folks, and he’s
missing her something awful. For a little bit of nothing he’d
do them chores for you, Miz Barron. You ought not to be doing all
that heavy lifting anyhow, and my back’s hurting just
thinking about hauling that mattress down them stairs and back up
again. Why’n’t you let me fetch Brother
Calvin?”
Ella glanced at Mr. Rainwater, who was following this
conversation with interest. He said, “I’d be willing to
pay Brother Calvin’s fee.”
Margaret smiled as though the matter had been settled. She
headed toward the hallway, where the telephone was.
“I’ll call over to the store right now.” To Mr.
Rainwater she said, “Randall’s Dry Goods and Grocery is
where my boy, Jimmy, works. While he’s on a delivery, he can
run right over to where the preacher’s stayin’ and tell
him to get hisself over here.”
When Margaret was out of earshot, Mr. Rainwater said to Ella,
“I hope that’s all right with you.”
It wasn’t. This was her house. All decisions regarding it
were hers to make. But it seemed that nothing was normal this
morning. Everything was out of whack. She was being swept along by
an unusual series of events. In fact she felt overtaken by them,
and that sense of floundering alarmed her. Routine wasn’t
just a preference, it was a necessity.
But in the grand scheme of things, retaining the services of
Brother Calvin was a small matter, and she would look peevish to
object to so workable a plan, especially since Mr. Rainwater had
offered to pay for the man’s services.
However, she wasn’t quite ready to concede. “I would
prefer to do the work myself, Mr. Rainwater.”
“Because your standards are so high.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“No one would doubt that.”
“But since time is a factor...”
She hadn’t intended to mention his limited time. She let
the sentence dwindle without finishing it. Embarrassment made her
face feel even hotter than it already did.
He said, “This is a good plan. It will save you a lot of
labor. It will spare Margaret’s back. And it will hasten
Brother Calvin’s reunion with his wife.”
Again, she noticed the gleam of amusement in his eyes, and she
thought that, if she smiled, he would also. But she didn’t,
so neither did he. “And it accommodates you,” she
pointed out. “It does, yes.”
She sighed defeat. “All right. But if you would give me
through tomorrow morning, I would appreciate it.”
“How about four o’clock tomorrow
afternoon?”
“Four? Yes, good. By then I’ll have the room
ready.”
“I’ll be sure to come with cash in hand. To cover
Brother Calvin’s charges and the first week’s
rent.”
He grinned, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she
motioned him toward the hall, indicating that their business was
concluded. “I can go out the back way.”
Nodding, she walked him to the screened back door. As he went
down the steps, he put on his hat. At the bottom of the steps, he
turned back and doffed the brim. “Mrs. Barron.”
“Mr. Rainwater. I hope you’ll be comfortable
here.”
She had other duties to attend to, the first of which was to see
that Solly ate his lunch. But for some reason, she didn’t
turn away. She maintained eye contact with the man who would share
her address for the last weeks of his life. Did her pity show? she
wondered. It must have.
He said, “He told you, didn’t he? Murdy told you
about me.” Being coy wasn’t in Ella’s nature.
Besides, she wouldn’t insult the man by lying. “He
thought I should know.”
He nodded, not only in confirmation of what he suspected but
also in what seemed to be approval of her straightforwardness.
“I’d thank you not to tell the others. Knowing makes
people uncomfortable, they start watching what they say. In any
case, I don’t want a fuss made over it. I don’t want to
be treated differently from anyone else.”
“I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Mr.
Rainwater.”
“See what I mean?” he said, grinning.
“You’re already making concessions for me.”
She had the grace to look abashed.
His grin held for several moments, then he turned serious again.
“Does he talk?”
“What?”
“Your son.”
He motioned with his head. She turned. Behind her, Solly was
still at the table. His lunch remained untouched. He was winding
the yo-yo string around his finger, unwinding it, winding it again
as he rocked forward and back to a beat that only he could
hear.
She came around to Mr. Rainwater again and shook her head.
“No. He doesn’t talk.”
“Well,” he said pleasantly, “I find that most
people who do often have nothing worthwhile to say.”
His easy dismissal of Solly’s limitations was almost more
difficult to withstand than the rude, curious stares of strangers,
and she reacted with a totally unexpected rush of tears. Perhaps he
saw them and wanted to spare her embarrassment, because he said no
more, only touched the brim of his hat again, turned, and walked
away.
Excerpted from RAINWATER © Copyright 2011 by Sandra Brown.
Reprinted with permission by Pocket Books. All rights reserved.
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Rainwater