Different Drummers (7 page)

He shuffled as if uncertain what to do next but moved closer to Kathleen. “Anyway, she's my wife. She came all this way to be with me and I'm gonna see she's treated right. Can't we at least make her feel welcome?”

He kept his arm around her as she snuggled against him.

Selma spoke up. “Don't you be turnin' against Daddy too, Bobby. His congregation's crazy about him but to his own son, he ain't nothing. You ain't been in the house five minutes before you're takin' up for Kathleen. Shoot, she ain't one of us. Anybody can see that.”

Kathleen cringed at the look Selma gave her, but held her tongue. This was no time to get into a verbal battle with her sister-in-law.

Otis suddenly took a different tack, obviously not wanting to lose his son's support.

“OK, Selma, honey, now that's enough. Kathleen's Bobby's wife, ain't she? It's just gonna take time.”

He turned to Kathleen. “I guess maybe I scared you comin' up to you like that in front of all them strangers. But you'll see the light one day. Jesus is just waitin' for you at that wonderful bend in the road. And I'm the one to lead you to him. Yes ma'am, I'm the very one.”

Beulah called from the kitchen. “Dinner's ready. Come on and eat. All of y'all are gonna feel a whole lot better after you get something in your stomachs.”

Bobby's eyes lit up as he saw the food on the kitchen table. “Momma, you fixed fried chicken. You knew I was comin' today didn't you?”

Beulah smiled. “Yeah, I guess I did, son. I kinda had a feelin'.”

Bob turned to Kathleen, the disagreement with his father already forgotten. “You ain't never tasted nothin' like Momma's fried chicken and her rice and gravy. And these biscuits, wow. Everywhere I've gone I've looked. Even Texas. But there just ain't no biscuits anywhere like Momma's.”

He grinned as he helped himself to the green beans. “I just can't get over seeing Kathleen sitting around the table with us in this house. The last time I saw her was in England. I'll tell you this and it ain't no lie. If I never see that place again, it'll be too soon for me.”

Kathleen swung around to face him. Why had he said that? Didn't he realize it would hurt.

“Texas ain't much better,” he went on cheerfully. “There's miles and miles of nothin'. There just ain't no place like Eddisville. Ain't that right, Baby?”

He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “Don't you just love it?”

“I haven't had much chance to get to know it yet,” she said. “Your cousin Freddie has turned out to be a good friend. He's already given me a tour of the town.”

As casually as she could, she told him about the impending interview for the job with
The Eddisville Gazette
. She held her breath, waiting for Otis to interrupt with his diatribe about Mr. Tate being the devil incarnate, but for reasons of his own, the man was strangely silent.

Bob held the drumstick away from his mouth and stared at her.

“You mean you've been here less than a week and already had a job offer? Now, how do you think that's gonna look from my point of view?”

“You won't have any trouble finding a job.” She leaned closer to him, resisting the urge to put her head on his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what you want to do?”

“Shoot no,” he said, then took a bite out of the chicken leg. “I just know I'm not gonna be in any big hurry. I've been gone a long time and there's a heap of things I want to do before I get a job.”

His sullen look and sharp reply caught her off guard. “I only asked, Bob. But you're right, I suppose. It'll take a while to get yourself adjusted.”

Selma jumped right in, a smirk slashing her face. “You don't know diddley-squat about men do you, Kathleen? They need to sit and think awhile. Let the poor guy settle down, for Pete's sake.”

Kathleen shot her a warning glance but Selma turned away.

“I got three hundred dollars musterin' out pay,” Bob said proudly. “I guess that'll keep us going for a while.”

Otis licked his greasy fingers. “That sounds like a gracious plenty, and I reckon you'll be givin' some of it to the church.”

“I doubt it.” Kathleen was braver now she had Bob to back her up and dared Otis to challenge her. “We don't own a single thing of our own. We can put some of it in the bank and save toward a home of our own.”

* * *

That night, while the rest of the family went to church again, Bob and Kathleen found themselves alone at last. When they made love, the bed creaked and groaned but because there was nobody in the house to hear it, they didn't care. And afterwards, exhausted and spent with emotion, they fell asleep. When Kathleen awoke, the house was dark and silent. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked for a long time at her husband's face, innocent as a child's, in the waning moonlight.

She edged gingerly out of bed, trying to soften the creak. Slipping on her robe, she made her way to the bathroom. After she'd used the toilet, she cringed at the loud flushing sound, then tiptoed back to their room. She closed the door softly, removed her robe, and slipped back into bed. Her movements woke him. Instantly aroused, he pulled her to him. The night was warm and they tossed the sheets to the floor. When they made love yet again, the bed creaked louder than ever.

“Damn this bed,” Kathleen whispered. “Everybody's bound to hear us.”

“Let ‘em,” he whispered back. “It'll give 'em somethin' to talk about tomorra.”

The door was in her line of vision and she dug her nails into Bob's arms as she watched it slowly open. Not wide, but wide enough to see a face. It was Otis's face, ghostly and white in the moonlight.

“Bob, Bob,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “There's somebody watching.”

She struggled under his weight, her terrified voice growing louder.

“A face. There's a face at the door.”

Bob finally turned his head, but not fast enough to see the pale face withdraw and the door silently close. He got out of bed, opened the door, and looked into the darkened hallway.

“What in the world are you sayin'? There's nobody there. You're imaginin' things. Who'd be peekin' in on us anyway. There's nobody in the house but the family.”

He donned his T-shirt and shorts and left the room. She heard him open the front door and go outside. Within minutes he was back inside the house, moving about the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge.

She lay still, nerves taut as banjo strings. If she spoke, would she start screaming? As the minutes passed, her pounding heart slowed to its normal pace. Was it possible she had imagined the whole thing? After all that had happened this day, were her nerves playing tricks? Could it be she just thought she saw her father-in-law open their bedroom door and ogle them while they made love?

Bob returned and quietly closed the door. “I've been outside and checked all around this house. There's nobody out there. Boy, have you got some kind of imagination. Still and all, I'm gonna tell the family we need to start locking the front door at night.”

Kathleen got out of bed and opened the window as wide as it would go. “Maybe I just thought I saw someone,” she said. After all, how could she accuse his father of being a Peeping Tom. “With all the excitement of you coming home, I think my imagination must be running away with me.”

She lay back down. “I have to talk to you, Bob. I know you've just got home, but I've come over three thousand miles to be with you and this is very important to me.”

He reached for his cigarettes. “What is it that can't wait till mornin'?”

“I want to move out of this house. I can't stay here. Can't you see we have to have a place of our own.”

She felt him stiffen beside her. “What you talkin' about? We can't go movin' out right now. Land sakes, ain't I just come home? Besides, where we gonna go? Maybe in a year or two we'll be able to get a place. There just ain't no buildin' going on round here right now.”

“I know that. Freddie's told me how hard it is to find a house, but anything will do.” She bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything would be better than this, but this was his home and family after all.

“It's my interview tomorrow. Let's see what kind of salary Mr. Tate offers me. If I'm working for a newspaper, I'd be in the best possible place to find a house or flat if there's one available for rent.”

Bob stubbed out his cigarette and immediately reached for another. “And that's another thing. I'm just not sure I want you workin'. How's it gonna look for me? A man needs to be able to support his wife.”

“What do you mean? I thought you'd be pleased. I'm not the sort to hang around the house, not until we have a baby anyway. You might think that three hundred dollars the army gave you is a lot of money but it'll go nowhere. We don't own a single thing, Bob, not even a knife and fork. We both need new clothes and if we're lucky enough to find a place, we'll need furniture and things.”

Bob rose up from his pillow. “There you go again. Damn, Kathleen, is that all you think about, gettin' out of this house? You haven't given anybody a chance to get to know you yet. And here it is, only my first night home, and you're already giving me a hard time. You're even imaginin' people peekin' through the bedroom door while we're doing it.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and turned away from her. “I'm goin' to sleep. G'night.”

Hours later, she lay in the dark, wide eyes staring at the ceiling and her mind going back to the face at the door. She hadn't imagined it. It was all too real. What manner of man was this father-in-law of hers? She had to get away and knew now it would be up to her to find them somewhere else to live. Everything depended on her getting the job at
The Eddisville Gazette
tomorrow.

* * *

She was still wide-awake when the dawn filtered into the bedroom. Feeling Bob stir beside her, she feigned sleep until she was sure Otis and Selma had left for work. If Bob remembered the incident of the night before, he didn't mention it, and with her nerves at breaking point, she was in no mood to remind him.

He stretched lazily on the bed as he watched her get ready for her interview. She took the dress she'd bought in Macy's off the hanger and slipped it over her head.

“I'm taking one of our honeymoon pictures with me,” she said. “Even if I don't get the job, at least I'll have the clipping of our story to send home.”

He threw back the sheet and sat on the side of the bed. “I don't want you gettin' your hopes up about this job. Old man Tate isn't gonna hire you. I can tell you that for nothin'. You have to be real smart to get a job on a newspaper.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Well, I am smart. Anyway, I'm not applying for a job as his chief editor, just his secretary. And he approached me, remember.”

“Yeah, well, I still think he isn't gonna want you workin' on his paper. He was only leadin' you on. He looks down his nose at the likes of us.”

She patted her hair in place and looked at him through the warped mirror. “You're probably just imagining that. He was nice when he talked to Freddie and me. I'm wondering though what I should ask for in the way of salary. I've no idea what the wages are around here.”

Bob pulled on his blue jeans. “I'm guessin' it won't be more than twenty dollars a week at the outside, but maybe you should only ask for fifteen, so's he won't think you're aimin' too high.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Kathleen stood beside the very pregnant Patsy Ashcraft as she knocked on Mr. Tate's office door.

“Good luck,” Patsy whispered as she ushered Kathleen in ahead of her and indicated she take a seat opposite Mr. Tate on the other side of his huge desk. After she'd placed Kathleen's test papers in front of Mr. Tate, she smiled and winked at Kathleen, then walked out the door, closing it behind her.

Mr. Tate's smile was friendly, easygoing. “Don't blame Patsy for this mess,” he said, an airy wave of his arm encompassing the whole room. “I won't let her touch anything. I'll never find a thing if anybody cleans it up.”

He picked up Kathleen's test papers. “Now you just sit back and relax while I take a minute to glance through your stuff.”

Kathleen smiled and gave a polite nod. Classical music played softly on the console phonograph in the corner. Mr. Tate was right. His office was a mess, a wonderful, chaotic mess. There were stacks of papers everywhere. The shelves lining the walls were crammed with books, with more stacked haphazardly on the floor. A tattered map of the world hung on his wall. The smell of ink and paper mingled with the scent of a huge bowl of freshly cut roses on the corner of his desk. Kathleen loved it.

At last Mr. Tate looked up and Kathleen noticed things about him she'd been too keyed up to see that first day in Todd's. She looked into kind, intelligent eyes, set wide apart. His face was pockmarked, as if he'd had a bad case of acne when he was in his teens. His thinning hair was worn longer than the style of the day and gray wispy curls touched the spotless white collar of his shirt.

Two photographs took pride of place on the credenza behind him. She looked in surprise at the picture on the left. A dashing Royal Air Force pilot laughed at her from the cockpit of a Spitfire. The other picture was of a slender fortyish woman standing on a beach, smiling into the camera, her blonde hair blowing softly in the ocean breeze.

“That's Belle, my wife,” Mr. Tate said. “We used to work on the paper together but she gave it up years ago.”

“She's very pretty.”

“Yes, well, she's a little older than that now.”

He picked up the other picture, flicking a speck of imaginary dust from the frame.

“This is a picture of our son, Cooper. He was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford when the Germans invaded Poland in 1939, and he joined the RAF without thinking twice. When this country was drawn into the war, he transferred to the American Air Force.”

The man's eyes were filled with pain, and even as she asked the question, Kathleen knew what his answer would be.

“Where is he now, Mr. Tate?”

“He was killed. His plane took some flak over Germany. He almost made it back but crashed ten miles short of the base. The hell of it was the war in Europe was just about over.”

He replaced the picture almost reverently on the credenza. “He was our only son, our only child. Belle and I are mighty proud of him, mighty proud.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Yes, well, at first we thought we'd never get over it, but it's true what they say. The pain never goes away, but time does have a way of making it easier to bear.”

He pulled his eyes away from the picture.

“Let's see now. Where were we?”

He made a steeple out of his hands, tapping his teeth with his forefingers as he appraised her from the other side of his desk.

“You did well on your test, Kathleen. You didn't make any mistakes on your transcription, not even a comma out of place. And your typing speed is the fastest we've had.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Now let's just talk awhile. I know you've only been in this country about two weeks, but what do you think of us so far?”

Should she say she was ecstatic? This man would know if she were lying. “It's a lot warmer than England,” she said as she searched her mind for neutral ground.

“And how do you like the South?”

She twisted her wedding ring around and around. “Ah, well, it seems very nice, what I've seen of it. It's just that I feel sort of out of place in my husband's home. I know you've heard of Otis Conroy, his father, and must also know he preaches at the Holiness Church of Jesus.”

Mr. Tate gave a cynical smile. “Yeah, I know Otis. Getting used to him is going to take some doing for someone like you.”

“Yes, well, I'm Catholic you see and he doesn't seem to understand that Catholics are Christians. I went to church with the family yesterday and Otis tried to get me to go to the front to be saved, or born again, or whatever it is he calls it.”

“Did you go?”

“Uhm, no. I…well, no, I didn't.”

She shifted in her chair, wishing now she hadn't mentioned Otis's name. The telling of it all came out wrong. Here she was new to the town, new to the Conroy family. What would Mr. Tate think of her and her whining?

“I'm sorry,” she said as she picked at a rough spot on her thumbnail. “I'm here to be interviewed for a job, not to discuss my personal problems. You must think I'm an absolute idiot.”

“No, no I don't. I'm glad you told me though because I can assure you most of us know that Catholics are Christians. Remember though, you're living in the heart of the Bible Belt. You'll find a lot of this sort of thing.”

The opening bars of Chopin's “Polonaise, Op. 53” came from the phonograph. Out of the blue, a picture of little Dorothy, laboring at their piano at home, trying to master the difficult score, flashed across her inward eye.

“Tell me a bit about your home,” he said. It was as if he read her mind. “This'll give me a feel for the article that'll be in the
Gazette
's next issue.”

For the next ten minutes she talked about Chester, the bakery, her family, anything that came into her mind. He made notes and asked questions. How did Bob come into the picture, he wanted to know, and she told him of their meeting in the Rialto and their whirlwind romance.

Mr. Tate smiled as her story drew to a close. “This should make good copy. Now, let me tell you a few things about
The Eddisville Gazette
. We have a staff of nine. I'm the publisher and chief editor, but it's sort of a communal thing with everybody pitching in. We have a full time reporter who doubles as photographer. I do some of this too. There are a couple of people in the composing room who put the paper together, and of course, there's our printer. We have a good advertising man, and a woman who does society, fashion, local interest stories, that sort of thing.” He moved things around on his desk as he talked.

“I hope I'm not throwing too much at you all at once.”

“No, not at all,” she said, already hopelessly lost.

“Well, no matter. You'll catch on. I guess what I'm saying is, the job's yours if you want it.”

He picked up two paper clips, linking one inside the other. “Do you need time to think it over?”

The heady feeling of success raced through her veins. “No, I can tell you right now, I want this job, Mr. Tate. But, well, you've interviewed others. I can't believe you'd offer the job to me.”

“Why wouldn't I?” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a tissue, smiling at her obvious excitement. “I've already said you did well on your test and I like the way you handle yourself. Besides, you're from somewhere else. It'll bring new blood to the paper.”

Kathleen held on to the chair so she wouldn't jump up and down. “I'll do my best not to let you down.”

“I don't think you need to worry about that,” he said, his smile broadening. “Now, let's discuss salary. How does thirty-eight dollars a week sound to you?'

“Did you say thirty-eight dollars a week?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“I honestly didn't expect anywhere near that much. Bob said I'd be lucky if you offered me twenty dollars.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Mr. Tate put his glasses back on, then looked her squarely in the eye. “And what's Bob going to do now he's out of the service? What kind of a job does he plan on getting?”

Kathleen shrugged. “I don't know. He said he wants some freedom before he starts work. I can understand his feeling that way, but…”

“But what?”

She searched for words. “It's so cramped living with his family. I'd give anything if we could find a house. I'd like to look through your latest paper and see if you have any places listed for rent.”

Mr. Tate smiled a slow, friendly smile, his half-frames perched precariously on the end of his nose, as he slapped the desk and got to his feet.

“By golly, Kathleen. I think I've got just the thing for you. Come on. Get your pocketbook and follow me.”

Kathleen didn't have to be told twice. She grabbed her purse and hurried after him. He stopped long enough to tell Patsy they'd found a replacement at last, then took Kathleen gently by the arm and escorted her out of the building. He opened the door of the sleek black Cadillac parked at the back of the building. Kathleen felt rich, like a millionaire, as she stepped inside and settled herself sedately on the glove-soft leather upholstery. Mr. Tate eased the car out of the parking lot and within a few minutes they were on Petrie Avenue and pulling into the driveway of his home.

He smiled as he turned off the ignition. “I know you're wondering what this is all about, but you'll find out in a minute.”

They walked around the side of the two-story, gleaming-white, wood frame house, with its wide-columned, wraparound porch. A narrow path at the side of the lawn led past lush palmetto palms and live oaks, to a small house almost hidden at the back of his lot by trees and bushes of varieties unfamiliar to Kathleen.

Mr. Tate retrieved the front door key from under a small stone angel placed near the front door. “Belle and I had this house built for her mother,” he explained as he stuck the key in the lock. “She was already in poor health and only lived in it six months. The dear old soul died a year ago and it's been sitting empty ever since. We've always thought somebody might come along we'd like to rent it to. And, well, I guess here you are.”

A shiver raced up Kathleen's spine as they stepped inside. The little house consisted of one large living room with wide French doors opening onto a terrace at the back. There was a small kitchen with refrigerator and stove. Beyond the living room was a bedroom and adjoining bathroom. Sheets covered the upholstered furniture but what she could see thrilled her. In the corner of the living room was a bookcase filled with books. Kathleen knew something of Impressionist paintings and was familiar with the prints of Monet and Renoir that graced the walls. With tears of gratitude pricking her eyes, she walked over to study Monet's water lilies and Renoir's vivid street scenes so Mr. Tate wouldn't notice what a fool she was making of herself. She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand, and turned to face him.

“I don't know what to say. It's, well, it's all so very lovely. I'm stumbling over my words here, Mr. Tate, because as charming as it is, I don't know whether Bob and I can afford it. So I have to ask you. What were you thinking of asking in the way of rent?”

She closed her eyes and held her breath, while she waited for his answer. She had to have this house. Not only was it like some enchanted cottage, but she'd be safe here from Otis. Mr. Tate walked around the room, checking light switches as he went.

“Tell you what,” he finally said. “I'm going to let you have the place free gratis for the first month. After that, it'll be thirty-five dollars a month. You probably have no idea how much places rent for in Eddisville, but you'll find this is a fair price.”

She stuck her hands in her pockets to stop herself from flinging her arms around the man's neck. “I've never known the like of the kindness you've shown me today. You've hired me at the
Gazette
and now, now you've rented us this house. I can't wait to get home and tell Bob. He'll be over the moon.”

“Good, then it's all settled.” He smiled and handed her the key. “Move in any time you like. The furniture's included of course and the linen cupboard's stacked with towels, sheets, and other things. Feel free to use anything, just as if it were your own.”

Kathleen knew she'd have to ask the question or die wondering. “I don't understand why you're being so nice to me, Mr. Tate. I mean, why me? You hardly know me.”

He shrugged. “I guess it's because I can see that up to now you haven't had it all that easy here in Eddisville. And in another way, it's for Cooper, my son. You see, he loved England and the English. But that's another story.”

There it was again, that faraway look at the mention of his dead son, but just as quickly it was gone. He looked at his watch. “I need to be getting back to the office. How'll it be if I drop you off at your house?”

“Yes please. I'd like that.” She'd been looking forward to the walk home but the idea of one more ride in the Cadillac was irresistible. She placed the key under the stone angel and followed him up the path.

As they rounded the side of his house on the way to the driveway, Kathleen unconsciously glanced through one of the large windows. A woman watched them. She turned quickly away when their eyes met, giving Kathleen no chance to smile or wave. Belle Tate had changed drastically from the wind-blown blonde in the photograph in William Tate's office, but he'd said the picture was taken years ago. Intuition warned Kathleen not to mention to her future boss that she'd just seen his wife staring at them through the window. If Mr. Tate had seen her, he kept it to himself.

“When do you think you'll be able to start work?” he asked as he backed the car out of the driveway. “I'd like you to learn the job before Patsy leaves and she'll be gone for sure in a couple of weeks.”

“Does next Monday sound all right?”