A Door Just Opened, page 5
“Hello, Mrs. Irons,” I said. “I was just wondering if you’d seen Mary Ellen. She went out for a walk and I thought she might have come this way.”
“I don’t know. I been on the back porch doing the washing. I ain’t seen her.” She hesitated a moment, then turned around, herding the children before her, and closed the heavy inside door.
Little Grace was beginning to whimper, so I took her from Rose’s arms, and the two of us walked a little farther. Ahead of us, we could see the gated lane that led to the Anders farm, the biggest one around. Beyond it lay the crossroads. There was no sign of Mary Ellen. The sun was hot and the baby was getting heavy so we gave up and turned back toward home.
As we got near the house, Mary Ellen emerged from the path behind the barn, a shortcut we sometimes took from the crossroads. Once again she ignored my calls, and walked on into the kitchen. By the time Rose and I entered the house, the kitchen was empty. I lay the baby down in her cradle and after checking that she wasn’t wet, went upstairs. Our bedroom door was closed. I opened it quietly and peeked in. Mary Ellen was already asleep, or pretending to be, so I went back downstairs, shaking my head. Where had Mary Ellen been, and what was she doing?
When Mama came home, I told her about Sam and the ring, and about Mary Ellen’s odd behavior.
“We went almost as far as the Anders place,” I said, “but Mary Ellen had just disappeared.”
“All the way to the Anders’s?” Mama’s mouth got tight the way it did when she was upset or mad about something. “I declare, I don’t know what’s gotten into Mary Ellen. She moons about, and half the time she doesn’t seem to hear me talking to her. Why of all things would she take it in her head to go walking about in the hot sun for no reason?
“I don’t know, Mama. She won’t talk to me.”
Mama was putting on her apron before starting the noon dinner when Papa came in from the barn. Mama repeated what I had told her, and then she said, “I’m getting worried about Mary Ellen. Maybe we’d better take her to see Dr. Simpson.”
Papa nodded. He had a troubled frown on his face. “I have to go to town tomorrow to get some feed. We can take her then. What do you think could be the matter?”
“I don’t know. Unless...”
I was about to say, “Unless what?” but Mama went on, “Maybe Dr. Simpson can help. And Matt, I don’t think Mary Ellen should be wearing that ring. We don’t know who it belongs to, and it might be valuable.”
Papa nodded again. “Too valuable to be wearing around on a farm anyway. Whoever lost it might turn up and claim it. We’d better put it in a safe place for now.”
When Mary Ellen didn’t come down for dinner, Mama sent me to call her. I shook her shoulder until I was sure she was awake.
“Dinner’s ready, Mary Ellen,” I said. “But listen, why did you go down the road this morning, and then disappear? Rose and I followed you almost as far as the Anders’s, and when we called you and tried to catch up, you acted as though we weren’t even there.”
Mary Ellen rubbed her eyes and yawned. She stared up sleepily. “What? I don’t know, I don’t remember. Just leave me alone. I don’t want anything to eat right now.” She turned over on her side. “I’ll be down later.”
I stood by the bed for a moment, baffled by her behavior. Finally, I shrugged my shoulders and went back downstairs. We were finishing dinner when a buggy stopped at the foot of the lane and Lena jumped out. She came running up the lane and into the kitchen without knocking.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d still be eating. Is Mary Ellen here?”
“She’s upstairs, lying down,” said Mama. “Is anything wrong?”
“Well, I don’t know, but I just heard the oddest thing from Billy Irons. He’s helping Pa with the haying. When he came back from dinner, he said Mary Ellen has a ring and is engaged to Sam. I told him he’s crazy, but he said the men down at the store were all talking about it. I said I didn’t believe it. It can’t be true—can it?”
Papa stopped chewing, his fork in midair, and looked over at Mama.
“Of course it’s not true.” Mama’s voice rose indignantly. “I declare, the stories that get started over nothing. Sam found a ring on the road and thought Mary Ellen would like it, that’s all. I’m sure I don’t know why anyone would think she’s engaged. And for heaven’s sake, not to Sam You tell Billy Irons to stop repeating such nonsense.”
“Oh, I was sure it couldn’t be right. I’ll tell Billy what you said.” Lena looked toward the stairs. “May I run up and see Mary Ellen for a minute?”
“Yes, go ahead. It will do her good. And tell her to come down and eat. She hasn’t had a thing since breakfast. She hasn’t been herself these past weeks, ever since—” She stopped.
“I know,” Lena said quickly. “I’ve noticed it, too.” She started toward the stairs.
“Oh, and Lena,” said Mama, “I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention Sam and that engagement story to Mary Ellen. Matt and I will talk to her later.”
“Yes, of course, Aunt Ellen.” Lena was gone in a flurry of gingham skirts and skinny legs. In a moment we could hear her voice and Mary Ellen’s from the bedroom, but a little later Lena came down alone. She said Mary Ellen still didn’t want to eat.
The next morning, Mama, Papa, and Mary Ellen went to town, but this time Mama took little Grace with her. Before they left, Mama asked Mary Ellen for the ring.
“Papa and I don’t think you should be wearing it. You might lose it, and for all we know, it could be valuable.”
She held out her hand and Mary Ellen, shrugging indifferently, pulled the ring off her finger and placed it in Mama’s hand. Mama wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it inside the cupboard behind her jar of egg money.
Rose and I watched the buggy roll down the lane, then Rose went off to play with Will Clayton. Left alone, I tidied the house, then filled a basket with some of Papa’s tomatoes and pulled some fresh ears of corn to take to one of our neighbors, Mattie Vance McKaig. Mama had noticed that the hens weren’t laying as well as usual and said we’d need to trade for some extra eggs from Mattie Vance.
“I haven’t enough for the family right now,” she said. “Let alone to send to the farm stand in town.”
I set off on the path behind the barn that passed through some scrubby pine woods and along a cranberry bog to Mattie’s farm. I was happy to be outside, breathing the warm air, but cool in the feathery shade of the pines. I could see the cranberries, already beginning to swell, glistening under the surface of the water that covered the bog. They would be ruby red and ready for harvest in the fall. Mary Ellen and I would be here every day after the bog was drained, helping to pick the berries. At least, I hoped Mary Ellen would be here beside me like always, chattering and giggling and screaming in make-believe fright if a harmless little grass snake slithered out of the woods.
I stopped and sat down on the cushion of moss at the edge of the bog. After taking off my shoes and stockings, I lowered my feet into the water, wiggling my toes and luxuriating in the delicious coolness. I sat there for a while, wondering what the doctor would say about Mary Ellen, and why she was acting so strangely. She not only didn’t eat or talk much; she seemed to have withdrawn into some place inside herself, where not even I could reach her.
After a few minutes, I put my shoes and stockings back on and walked the rest of the way to Mattie’s. Mattie had been married to Vance McKaig, whose brother Garth had also married a girl named Mattie. To keep the two Mattie McKaigs straight, everyone called them Mattie Vance and Mattie Garth. Vance McKaig was dead now, but out of habit everyone still called his widow Mattie Vance. She was a warm-hearted, outspoken, rough and ready sort of woman who still farmed her husband’s land and raised chickens. She went around in her husband’s flannel shirt, work pants and boots, with a worn sweater buttoned around her ample figure and an old felt hat crammed on her head.
She was out in the yard when she saw me approaching. “Lordgoddy, dear,” she shouted. “Where ya been? Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age!” She slapped me on the back. “How’s your ma? I hear she’s fooled us all and popped out another little Tilton!”
“She’s fine, and so’s the baby. Mama says hello and to tell you her hens aren’t laying so well, so we need a few eggs if you can spare them. I’ve brought you some of Papa’s corn and tomatoes in exchange.”
“Fine with me. Course you can have some eggs. My hens are layin’ worth a storm. I’ve had plenty to sell at the farm stand in River Heights, and a few dozen left over.” She led me to the shed at the back of the house, where cartons of eggs lay spread over a wooden table, sorted into boxes of small, medium, and large.
Mattie picked up a box of the large. “A dozen be enough? I’ve got plenty.”
“Oh, yes, a dozen is fine. Thanks, Mattie.”
As we walked back toward the path, Mattie asked, “What’s this I hear about Mary Ellen and Sam? I could hardly believe it when he came by this morning and told me. Lordgoddy, who would have thought?”
“Told you what?” But I already knew what she was going to say. Thanks to Sam, the ring story was spreading fast.
“Why, that he and Mary Ellen are engaged. He said he gave her a ring and she put it on her third finger left hand, and that means they’re engaged. At least that’s what one of the fellas down to the general store told him. He said that if you give a girl a ring and she puts it on her finger, you’re engaged, and Sam believed him. I gotta say, poor Sam seemed pretty much in a tizzy about it, halfway between embarrassed and panicked. After all, he’s old enough to be Mary Ellen’s father, and then some.”
Oh, poor Sam, I thought. He was such a kind-hearted, innocent old thing, he probably thought that anything people told him must be true. But however were we going to stop such talk?
“Mattie,” I said, “it’s not true.” I explained about Sam finding the ring and giving it to Mary Ellen. “There is no engagement, believe me. Please tell people that if you hear any more about it.”
“Well, of course. I didn’t think it was likely. And if Sam comes by again this afternoon, I’ll set him straight.”
“Thanks, Mattie. Don’t be too hard on him, though.”
“Oh, I won’t, don’t you worry. I’m a tough old bird but I got a warm spot in my heart for old Sammy. Matter of fact, he’ll probably be very relieved.”
She gave me another slap on the back. “Come back soon, dearie. Let me know if you need more eggs.”
With a wave of her hand, she strode back to the house, her boots leaving deep impressions in the thick grass.
I hurried home to start dinner, stopping at Aunt Sarah’s to pick up Rose on the way. When Mama and Papa came, Mary Ellen wasn’t with them. I went out to meet the buggy.
“Where’s Mary Ellen?” I asked.
Mama climbed down and Papa drove on to the barn to unharness Dolly. “Dr. Simpson wanted Mary Ellen to stay in town for a while. He thinks she might be anemic. He’s going to give her iron pills and have her rest, and he wants to keep an eye on her.” Worry lines creased Mama’s forehead.
“What’s anemic?” I asked.
“Dr. Simpson says it means your blood is thin. It makes you weak. Mary Ellen is staying with Aunt Grace and Uncle Tony for now, but the doctor says she can probably come home again in a few days.”
Mama took off her hat and started dishing up leftover chicken stew from the day before. Papa came in and we all sat down to eat. I waited until we were almost finished, then I said, “I went over to Mattie Vance’s and got the eggs, Mama, and she said Sam had been there. I’m afraid the story of the ring has gotten around. They told Sam down at the store that he and Mary Ellen are engaged, and Sam believed them.”
Mama and Papa both looked up and waited for me to go on. Rose paid no attention and kept on eating.
“Mattie said Sam was pretty upset. I asked her if she sees him again before we do, to please tell him not to worry, he and Mary Ellen are not engaged. She said she would.”
“Well, I should hope so!” Mama said. “If Sam comes by this afternoon, Papa and I will have a talk with him too.”
“Good thing Mary Ellen is staying in River Heights for a while,” Papa said. “Till this outlandish story dies down.” He got up, took his work shirt off the hook by the door, and went upstairs to change out of his town clothes.
When I went to bed that night, I undressed quietly so as not to wake Rose. She and Mama had moved her cot into the room with Mary Ellen and me; Grace’s cradle now occupied the place at the foot of Mama’s bed. Rose was sleeping peacefully, one of her dolls clutched in her arms. I crawled into the big bed alone, wishing I could cuddle up to Mary Ellen the way I did when we were little. I wanted so much for her to be the way she used to be, before the baby, and before she started acting so oddly.
I felt a little guilty about having thought Mary Ellen was pretending to be sick. I couldn’t help envying her though, staying in town away from all the farm chores, and best of all, free to look through the books in Uncle Tony’s study. Not that Mary Ellen would be interested. She had hated school and never read anything, if she could help it. I had discovered the shelves of books the last time I had been at Aunt Grace and Uncle Tony’s house, when Uncle Tony sent me into his study to fetch his pipe. I wished so much that I could browse through such treasures. But on the other hand, I remembered how uncomfortable I always felt in that house, with the dark rooms and stiff expensive furniture, and Aunt Grace’s hired girl forever hovering around with her dust cloth or mop. Maybe Mary Ellen wasn’t so lucky after all.
It did seem, as Papa had predicted, that the engagement story gradually died down. Sam stayed away for several days, too embarrassed to face Mama and Papa, but evidently Mattie Vance had been able to convince him that it was all a misunderstanding, that no one blamed him, and that he and Mary Ellen were definitely not engaged. When he finally did come by, Mama welcomed him as cordially as ever, and gave him a pot of homemade clam chowder to take home.
To my relief, life seemed to be returning to normal.
Chapter Four
Mary Ellen had been away for five days when Dr. Simpson sent word with Uncle Bert that Papa could come and fetch her, but to stop by the doctor’s office first. Mama was in the midst of canning a mess of ripe tomatoes. They were already boiling in the large canning kettle on the stove, filling the steaming kitchen with their sharp fragrance.
“I don’t see how I can leave right now, Matt,” she said. She wiped perspiration from her brow with the back of her arm. “Can you go alone?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll go saddle up Dolly.” Papa started out the back door, followed by Poll’s shouts. “Dolly! Saddle Dolly!” We could hear Papa muttering as he walked down the path to the barn.
I had been scalding more tomatoes in another pot, then slipping off the skins before they went into the canning kettle. I looked up. “Could I go with Papa? Please, Mama? I’ve got the rest of the tomatoes ready, and if you leave everything when you’re finished, I’ll clean up when I get back.”
Mama stopped stirring and thought for a minute. “I guess I can finish up without you. Rose can help with the baby.” She began stirring again. “Tell Papa I need a few things from town. I have a list there on the table.”
“Yes, Mama. Thank you!”
I flew up the stairs to change my dress, happy at the prospect of a trip to town, and of being with Papa.
We rode along behind Dolly, the sun warming my bare arms. I’d forgotten a hat, as usual, so I’d no doubt have some freckles to show for it. When we passed the Anders farm, I noticed that the gate was open. At the far end of the lane, near the house, a handsome horse was tethered to the hitching post. Even from a distance, I could tell it was not one of the usual farm horses. I recognized it as one of the thoroughbreds that Charles Anders often rode. He must have come home on vacation from his private school. He was lucky his family could afford to send him there. I didn’t envy him the fancy private school, just the chance to go to school. Any school at all.
At the top of Blueberry Hill, the only elevation for miles around, Papa stopped Dolly so we could look at the view. Far away, through the space between two pines, we could see a tiny stretch of the blue Atlantic Ocean, ten miles away. I remembered the winters we’d lived in a house on the beach, and wondered if Papa was thinking about it too.
He’d been farming full-time ever since he left the New Jersey Life Saving Service five years ago, when Rose was only three. Before that, we’d spent every winter in the house next to the Seaside Beach Life Saving Station, until Papa was injured one stormy night, manning a lifeboat. During those fierce storms, the ocean sometimes crashed over the dunes and the waves washed around the foundation of our house. I thought it exciting, but Mama was always scared to death. She’d stand at the window, white-faced and trembling, staring out at the waves that thundered up the beach toward the house. Sometimes she made us girls get dressed, then dragged us through the wild blackness to the Life Saving Station a stone’s throw away, where Papa and the other men watched for shipwrecks along the coast.
The men would take my sisters and me up in the lighthouse and let us look through the telescope. I could still picture the dark thrashing sea, the great foaming breakers lit up by the flashing beacon. More than once we had witnessed a wreck, and had watched as the men launched a lifeboat through the pounding surf, or if it were too rough, shot the breeches buoy on a rope to the crew of the ship. One by one the people on board would climb into the canvas breeches—like trying to put on your drawers on the slippery deck of a heaving boat—and were hauled to shore on the rope.
One winter there had been three wrecks in one night, and all the people were brought ashore that way. Papa had helped guide the ropes and lift the people out, then came back to make Mama a cup of tea in the station kitchen.
