Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (46 page)

Once Paul had joined the others watching television, Olivia closed the kitchen door and picked up the telephone. She dialed the number and waited. After five rings, Anita answered.

“Who’s this?” she asked, no hello, no greeting.

“Good evening,” Olivia said in the nicest imaginable voice. “This is Olivia Doyle. I spoke with you last week about the possibility of having Jubilee live with us.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Anita answered. “I’m still thinking it over. I ain’t made up my mind yet.”

“I understand,” Olivia said, “but there’s something more I thought you should know. Jubilee’s brother is now with her, so he’ll also need a home.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Olivia waited for an answer, but none came. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Anita finally answered. “Are you saying if I take one of those kids, I’ve got to take them both?”

“That would seem to be the best answer. After all, separating children who have gone through such trauma in their life would not be advantageous.”

“Not advantageous to who?”

“Why, to the children, of course.”

“What about me? You saw the size of the apartment I’ve got.”

Olivia knew that Anita was a woman standing on the sharp point of a needle—one wrong word and she could topple over, and if that happened there was no telling what she would do.

“Yes, I have seen your apartment,” she answered. “I can certainly see what you mean.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want the kids,” Anita clarified. “What I’m saying is that I need some time to think this thing over.”

“Fair enough,” Olivia replied. “I can keep the children with me until you’ve decided.” She started to say that it was far better than shipping them off to some foster home but cut the words short before they escaped into the air. A statement such as that might awaken the familial ties in Anita’s heart and cause her to feel compelled to protect her sister’s children.

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the telephone.

Unfortunately she still didn’t know whether she’d be moving.

Clara

Every once in a while you hear a person say how it’s better to give than receive, and I can tell you it’s the honest-to-God truth. When Olivia Doyle came here, she was a shattered woman. Someone who’d wasted away to nothing more than a stretch of skin filled with the bones of what used to be. If ever a person needed a friend, it was Olivia.

I gave her that friendship. She didn’t take it willingly, but I forced it on her. When she said she was too busy to come to a party, I refused to take no for an answer. When she claimed she was too sorrowful to come to a club meeting, I said
Poppycock
and dragged her out the door. Taking care of Olivia gave me way more joy than she could ever know. It made me feel almost as happy as I was when my sweet Henry was still alive.

Giving Olivia my friendship didn’t cost me anything, but she’s willing to give up a life she loves to take care of those kids. I’m thinking I can’t let her do it.

There’s always another way to skin a cat, but the problem is Olivia’s not a woman to ask for help. Whatever needs to be done to keep her from making this mistake is gonna have to move ahead without her.

I’m gonna talk to Seth Porter. Ten to one he’s got some thoughts on how to get the building bylaws changed.

No kids, no dogs—that’s not living; that’s just a bunch of old folks waiting to die. It’s time we put some life back into this old building.

No Children Allowed

O
n Monday Olivia began to scan the
Wyattsville Daily
looking for an apartment. There were four listings close by, but all four specified, “No kids, no pets.” Those words were in bold face type. She moved on to the listing for houses. There was a three-bedroom ranch and two four-bedroom colonials, all of which were beyond her price range.

“Oh, dear,” Olivia said and ran her finger down the column of listings again. This time she spotted a tiny ad, just two lines, no bold face type. “For rent” it read. “4 bedrooms, 1 bath, large yard, doghouse.”

She dialed the number listed and waited. After five rings a voice answered. “If you’re calling about the apartment,” a woman said, “Mister Coney isn’t here. Call back later.”

“Well I just wanted to ask a question,” Olivia stuttered. “Would you be willing to rent to someone with a dog and—” A click sounded before she could mention the children. Olivia hung up the receiver wishing that she had given the woman her telephone number and left out any mention of a dog. Renting to someone with children might not be the owner’s first choice, but since the ad didn’t specify no children there was still a possibility. Instead of redialing the number in the ad, Olivia called Seth Porter.

“Can you come down for a minute?” she asked. “I need you to make a phone call.”

When Seth arrived, she explained the situation and asked him to call and leave her telephone number for a call back.

“Don’t say your name, and don’t mention kids or a dog,” she instructed.

Looking a bit puzzled, Seth asked, “What am I supposed to say?”

“Just say you’re interested in the apartment and give my telephone number.”

Olivia dialed the number and handed the receiver to Seth. When the woman answered he said, “I’m interested in the apartment; please have someone call me back.” He rattled off Olivia’s telephone number.

Seth hung up and looked at Olivia with that same puzzled expression. “I don’t get it. If they don’t want kids, what difference is my calling gonna make?”

“I’ll go see the place, then worry about whether or not they’ll take kids.” She left it at that, figuring once Mister Coney met her three lovely children he could hardly say no. She’d already decided when they went to look at the house she’d bring the children but not Dog. Definitely not Dog.

After Seth was gone, Olivia sat down to wait for the phone call. For three hours she sat in the chair next to the phone, watching the clock tick minutes off slowly. Very slowly. In time she grew restless and began to pace across the living room, far enough to stretch her legs, but always within hearing range of the telephone. When the afternoon passed with no call, she reasoned that Mister Coney most likely worked and would call in the evening. But at twenty minutes past eleven she crawled into bed, and there had been no telephone call.

Sleeping in Ethan’s room did not come easy to Olivia. The narrow bed felt lonely, like part of who she was had suddenly gone missing.
It’s only for a while,
she told herself, but still she remained wide-eyed and sleepless for most of the night.

It was close to two o’clock when she snapped on the light and picked up the bedside picture of Charlie smiling down at her. “I wish you were here,” she said. “You’d know what to do.” She continued the conversation for almost an hour, telling Charlie of the things that troubled her and somehow knowing he listened to every word. By the time she set the picture back on the nightstand and snapped off the light, a strange new peace had settled inside her heart.

Olivia was still asleep when the telephone rang at seven-thirty. Ethan Allen answered it.

“You called about the apartment?” a man said.

“I didn’t call about no apartment,” Ethan answered.

“Somebody did. This is the call back number they left.”

“It must’ve been Grandma.” Ethan clunked the receiver on the counter and yelled, “Grandma, you got a phone call!”

Olivia’s eyes popped open. But by the time she’d pulled on her bathrobe and gotten to the telephone, the caller had hung up. Minutes later the phone rang a second time. Olivia grabbed the receiver. “Good morning,” she said with the sweetness of sugar coating the words.

Avoiding any mention of children and a dog, Olivia made an appointment to see the apartment on Wednesday afternoon. Her plan was to take three well-groomed and well-mannered children with her and hope for the best. But first she had to get Paul some clothes. Well-groomed meant he had to wear something other than the plaid shirt and overalls he now had.

Olivia spent most of the day shopping for Paul’s clothes. She started in the young men’s department of Kline’s and had him try on shirts, pants, and sweaters, none of which fit properly. The boy was built like a sapling—tall but not yet filled out. Pants that fit at the waist were inches too short, and the long-enough ones bagged at the waist.  Without purchasing a single item, they moved on to Wellerman’s Menswear but fared no better. After they’d visited five different stores, Olivia spied a young man built much like Paul. She tapped him on the shoulder and asked where he bought his clothes.

“They’re mostly custom made,” he answered, “but I got these pants at Smart Shoppe.”

Smart Shoppe was at the far end of town and considered quite pricey, but that was their next stop. They left there with two pairs of trousers, a pair of blue jeans, and five cotton shirts. After lunch at Woolworth’s and a stop at the shoe store, they started home late in the afternoon. By then Olivia had decided the bicycle would have to wait for another day and another pension check.

On Wednesday morning Olivia roused all three children early. She fed them breakfast, then sent them off to get dressed.

“We’re going to look at a new apartment,” she said, “and you all need to look your very best.” 

The address was on the far side of town—seventeen miles from the Wyattsville Arms. The trip dragged, and with every mile Olivia’s heart grew heavier. Three times she started to turn around and go home, but when such urges came upon her she forced herself to remember that this was something she had to do.

Olivia had expected it might be an apartment building or a garden apartment complex with shaded walkways running between buildings. Instead it was a two-story house. A house with an almost brown lawn and a look of sadness hanging over it.

“This don’t look so good,” Ethan Allen said.

“It’s probably a lot nicer on the inside,” Olivia replied, “and, besides, it has a backyard and a doghouse.”

“Dog ain’t gonna be happy sleeping in no doghouse,” Ethan grumbled.

Olivia eyed the house again. “You three wait here. I’ll go check it out, and if it’s a place we’d be interested in I’ll come back and get you.” She stepped out of the car and started up the walkway.

The kids watched as she pushed the doorbell, then disappeared inside the house. Olivia was gone for nearly fifteen minutes, and returned to the car with her mouth in a pout. “Not the sort of place we want to live,” she grunted. With no further explanation, she pulled out and headed for home.