Summer Lightning (18 page)

“Ain’t got a momma.”

Mrs. Green sighed. “No? Then what’s your daddy’s name?”

“Daddy.”

“I think,” Edith said, “that’s he’s too little to know.”

“He’s old enough to have learned things like that, if anybody ever took the time to teach him. Somebody’s not taking proper care of this child,” Mrs. Green said, her full mouth becoming tight. A fire blazed in her green eyes. Edith realized that whoever was responsible for little Rudy wasn’t going to enjoy meeting Mrs. Green!

Edith wanted to be there when they did meet. Looking at the boy, who was falling asleep on the shoulder of Mrs. Green’s print wrapper, his lower lip pouting out, she also wanted to give someone a piece of her mind. She only hoped Mrs. Green would give her a chance.

“Where are my manners?” Mrs. Green asked. “Would you care for a glass of lemonade, Miss Parker?”

“Never mind about me. Why don’t you sit down? I’m sure Rudy must be heavy.”

“Lord, I’m used to it. One of my boys wouldn’t go to sleep ‘less I walked him for an hour by the clock.”

“But your sons are grown, now, aren’t they?”

“Not yet. But it won’t be long now,” she said wistfully. “They’re thirteen and near twelve. Seems like yesterday they were no bigger than this.” She cuddled the sleeping boy more closely against her body. Very carefully, she lowered herself into a well-worn, much loved rocking chair.

“Help yourself to lemonade, if you want any. Once those boys are home, that’ll be the first thing they’ll clamor for. ‘I’m dry as a bone, ma.’ ‘I’m plumb thirsty, ma.’ It’s the same story every day. Just as if there wasn’t a pump in the yard.”

Edith filled two glasses. As she brought them into the parlor, she heard Mrs. Green singing “Lorena,” the unforgettably sweet and sad song of the Civil War soldiers. Her memory turned back to long ago, when a dimly recollected figure, whose presence meant enfolding love, had sung that song to her.

Shouts, whoops and a shriek that struck terror into her soul caused Edith to look toward the open door. Were Indians attacking? She saw two savages leap the closed gate. Finding some cause for argument, they fell to the ground, pummeling one another.

“That’ll be them,” said their complacent mother, without turning around.

“Should I separate them?”

“You just try. They’ll stop in a minute.”

Each seemed to pull the other up. As though they were being assaulted by every fly known to man, they ran wildly about the yard, now tumbling, now leaping in the air. At last, they ran up the steps as though they would raid the house, sparing neither woman nor child in their recklessness.

“Are they always like this?” Edith asked, in the seconds before the hellions entered.

“Oh, no. They seem kind of peaceful today.”

The last boy slammed the door. Little Rudy never stirred, not even when they hollered, “Hey, ma! Got anything to drink?”

Though she was sitting only a yard away, they repeated their demand, even more loudly. Edith, not used to the noise, hastily handed them each a glass of lemonade. Giving her surprisingly friendly smiles, with a variety of missing teeth, the two boys drained the glasses in a few seconds. One uttered a loud burp.

“‘Polergize, Hank.” The slightly bigger one cuffed his brother’s head.

“Cut it out! Sorry, lady.”

“Boys . . .” said their mother.

They clumped over to her. “Hey,” Hank said. “That’s the kid everybody’s been looking for.”

“Yeah,” his brother added. “He’s got some dumb name . . . Rhubarb or Randolph . . .”

“Rudy,” his mother said. “And those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Aloysius.”

Hank looked at the ceiling and began to whistle idly. His brother tried to dig a hole in the carpet with his big toe. “Yes’m,” he muttered.

Edith, embarrassed, asked, “Who does this boy belong to, Hank? Aloysius?”

“He’s one of the butcher’s kids, and, if you don’t mind, ma’am, it’s Al.”

“Excuse me, Al.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure.” His round green eyes were grateful.

“Well!” Mrs. Green said with decision. “Mr. Huneker’s going to have me to deal with before he’s an hour older.”

Carrying the boy to Edith, she laid him down gently on her lap. The sleeping boy sagged into a comfortable new position, instantly numbing Edith’s arm.

“I won’t be a minute,” Mrs. Green said. “I’ll change into my dress. Boys, wash up. Soap!” she added as they tore out of the room, shouting, “Heap Big Mother Squaw on warpath! Ugh!”

“Make’um stew from Butcher,” Al said, poking his face back into the room. He winked hugely before running off again.

A few minutes later, a questionably clean pair of boys with slicked-down hair, followed two impeccably dressed ladies. The boys kept themselves from the temptations of rain barrels, cooling pies on windowsills, and a dead blackbird. They knew that bigger fireworks than the Fourth of July were bound to explode when their mother met the butcher. Also, they were determined to defend their mother’s honor, if any of the Huneker clan looked like they might start trouble.

Edith trailed slightly behind Mrs. Green who, despite her clean dress and large hat, insisted on carrying the still sleeping child. Edith had never seen anger before, at least not as a manifestation, but she could almost see it flickering around the edges of Mrs. Green’s attractively full figure. As they stopped before a gate, Edith began to feel distinctly apprehensive.

“Hmph, he’s having trouble keeping his yard neat, too. Nothing but dirt. Look at those flowers—haven’t been watered since the Flood. And that swing is broken right across.” She clicked her tongue. “It’s a shame to give a baby like this back to a father who takes so little care of him.”

Hank said, “Want me to roust ‘em out, Ma?”

“Certainly not. We’ll knock like Christian folk.”

As the party stepped up the warping steps and onto the peeling porch, Edith heard the murmur of a voice. Mrs. Green raised her hand to knock at the unpainted front door when she paused. The voice had gotten louder. Accented with a slight German flavor, the man prayed aloud.

“. . . Thee to return our wandering son, to guide his steps homeward to his family. He is just a small boy, Heavenly Father, and must rely on Thee to see him safe home, as Thou guidest all the lost to their rest.”

An amen sounded from half a dozen voices. Edith sniffed, choked by tears. Mrs. Green echoed the sound, her fine jade-colored eyes were sparkling now with moisture rather than anger.

Without knocking Mrs. Green stepped into the threadbare, but scrupulously clean front room. A large family of children, hands clasped, stood around a mild-looking gray-haired man, who was just folding up his spectacles. He looked nothing like Edith’s conception of a butcher.

“Mein Gott,”
the man said, rising. Holding out trembling hands, he hurried around the table, stepping around children ranging in age from adolescence to a baby crawling on the floor.

“Rudy. My Rudy.” Mr. Huneker took his son from Mrs. Green’s arms as though the boy had floated in under his own power. The small blond head lifted. “Papa?”

The man rocked back and forth, clutching the child tightly, while his other children clustered around. There were two boys and two girls, and the infant, whose sex was not clear. All were handsome children who looked to be wearing each other’s clothes. By the time the shirts had reached the youngest child, they were nowhere near flawless.

Tears shone in the gray eyes of the butcher as he kissed his son’s head. Rudy had gone to sleep again.

“Poor thing’s worn out,” Mrs. Green whispered to Edith.

She was about to agree when she was struck into silence by Mr. Huneker’s expression. He had looked up when Mrs. Green had spoken, but whatever he’d meant to say never passed his lips. As though he’d been turned to stone, he stared at the red-haired woman, his jaw slightly open.

Edith had read about love at first sight. She had never thought she would actually see it.

As though the sun had sent its first rays straight into a crystal chandelier, Mr. Huneker threw off beams that bounced and sparkled, not only about his person, but about the rest of the room. Like a prism, he transformed the white fire of true love into dancing rainbows. Every one of his facets reflected back a portion of his heart to make a whole too dazzling to look at with the naked eye.

“I’ll put him in his bed.” Mr. Huneker said, stuttering a little, his accent becoming more pronounced. “Please stay. . . .” He added something in German. To Edith’s surprise, she saw Mrs. Green blush as though she’d understood what he’d said.

She turned to Edith and said softly, “I worked for a German family before I married Mr. Green. They’re very . . . poetical.”

As if compelled, Mr. Huneker glanced back as he carried his son out. He repeated, “Please stay. . . .”

After he’d gone, the tallest girl dropped a bobbing curtsy. “I’m Friederike, ma’am. Where did you find him?”

“This lady found him,” Mrs. Green said. No one looked at Edith for more than a moment. Even the infant stopped playing with his brother’s bootlaces to smile toothlessly at Mrs. Green.

Hank and Al peered around the room. “Hey, Gerardine,” Al said, flipping a hand at a girl about his age.

“Is she your mother?” the young girl asked. When Al nodded, she transferred some of her awestruck interest to him.

The other boys introduced themselves as Bing and Konrad. They pulled forward their father’s chair and escorted Mrs. Green to it with considerable ceremony. She sat down like a queen, only to cluck like a mother hen at the tear on Konrad’s jacket. “Does anyone have a needle and thread?”

“I do.” Friederike bobbed another curtsy as she brought out a needle wrapped round and round with coarse white thread.

Edith was charmed by the way Mrs. Green didn’t display the slightest discouragement at the wrong color for the repair of a faded blue jacket. Instead, she began to stitch the sleeve, while Konrad still wore it. And, by taking the stitches on the wrong side, she managed to repair the tear without too much of the white showing through.

Just as she was biting the thread with her strong, white teeth, Mr. Huneker came back. “He didn’t even move when I laid him down.”

“I imagine he’s pretty tired,” Mrs. Green said with a nod. “He told me he was chasing a stray dog and was lost before he knew what was what.”

“And you find him?”

“No, it was .  . .”

“Ah, you are so good. And these smart boys knew who little Rudy belongs to?”

“Why, yes. Say how-do-you-do to Mr. Huneker, boys.” Mrs. Green seemed to recall with what intentions she had come. She took a deep breath and said, “Now, Mr. Huneker, about Rudy . . .”

“He is a good boy. Never have any of my children been lost before. Gerardine comes running to my shop as soon as she knows he is gone. I never even put the sign that I am closed in the window. Many, many thanks for bringing him back to us.”

“Oh, really ... it was . . . that is . . .”

As Mrs. Green stumbled along, softened by the power of the man’s prayer and his obvious guilt, Edith slipped quietly out of the house. As she headed back toward Miss Albans’s place of business, she was thinking. It will be much easier for Jeff to choose between two women than between three.

Chapter 12

The bell above Vera’s door tinkled merrily when Edith came in. At once came an answering bell-like voice from the curtained area at the back of the store. “Be with you in a minute!”

Edith hardly had a second to look around before Vera, her clothes protected by a white muslin apron, came bustling out. Her pretty face lit up when she saw who it was.

“Oh, hello, Miss Parker. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. That is . . . I wondered if you had a few minutes just to talk. I don’t really know anybody . . .”

“Me either. I’ve only lived in Richey for about six months and it takes a while for them to get used to you. You’re lucky to be related to the Danes. They pretty much
are
Richey.”

“Are they?” Edith hadn’t gotten that impression.

“Come on in the back and talk to me while I finish this hat. I’m hoping to sell it to Mrs. Judd. She’ll look a fright in it, but she’s crazy for lavender.”

The workroom was scrupulously neat, the rolls of ribbon and sprays of feathers all tidily shelved, the blank straw forms hanging from hooks behind the workbench. A round hat with a small brim sat on a black, featureless head projecting up from the center of the bench. A lavender ribbon, as wide as the crown, encircled the hat, while a spray of Persian violets sat beside it.

“She’s got about twelve dresses in varying shades of light purple,” Vera said after showing Edith to a stool. “If I put this in the window, she’ll want it—and she should be going by at about four-thirty. Hand me that pot of glue behind you, please?”

Trying not to breathe in the strong fumes, Edith held it out. “Will it dry in time?”

“Oh, yes. I don’t usually use glue, of course, as it’s not reliable in the rain, but it won’t rain for at least a week.”

Edith smiled at the devil-may-care tone. Yet she saw with what guilt Vera glued the ends of the ribbon to the hat. Plainly, the milliner did not like failing to do her best work.

“Who is Mrs. Judd?” she asked.

“My landlord’s wife. I figure that if I charge her two dollars fifty for the hat, I can pay my rent and eat, all with my landlord’s money.” Shamefaced, Vera shifted her eyes from Edith to the violets she attached to the side of the hat. “I suppose you think that’s pretty mean-spirited of me. But people with money can’t know what it’s like to be so poor.”

“But
I’m
poor, too,” Edith protested. “I haven’t any money at all, you know.”

“Oh, sure. With that hat and those shoes and Jefferson Dane for a cousin? Nobody knows how much he brought back from his gold claim but it’s enough to keep you and his entire family in comfort for eternity.”

Twisting viciously, Vera added a loop of tulle, in a shocking shade of green. Though it went with the silk violets’ green foliage, it clashed vividly with the cool tones of the hat’s main theme.