Blue Shoes and Tattoos, page 14
Hannah twisted free to study the house. “Why doesn’t somebody live in it? It’s a pretty house, like my dollhouse with chimneys and a porch.”
“Well, one chimney,” Carolina corrected.
“My dollhouse has two.”
“One is enough for Santa,” Carolina said.
“I would spend Christmas here!” Hannah smiled reassuringly at Carolina. “But Santa might not find me.” She tugged at Freddy. “Let’s go see the fireplace!”
His glance at Carolina over the busy curls was questioning. But with a quick smile, she nodded and waved the key.
Their shoes patterned the grass, still damp with morning, as Hannah skipped ahead, reaching the porch and, at the top of the steps, dancing her impatience.
“You really wanted to look at your house?” Freddy muttered as they crossed the yard. Though he had been very quiet on the walk over, Carolina had detected no hostility, but no warmth either. “Or you think Aunt Betts has a problem to discuss?”
Carolina glanced at him, surprised again at his perception, pleased that he seemed willing to discuss a family problem. She said, “I think maybe something’s going on with that doll.”
“Doll?” Freddy’s face was puzzled but grim, his voice hardly a whisper. “Oh, that fancy thing the kid has? Well, I know something’s going on with that doll fellow and my mom.”
“Let me unlock it, Carolina! Please?” Hannah jumped up and down with excitement till Carolina handed her the key. As she worked with it, Carolina spoke softly.
“The older Gleason wants to come see Miss Geneva. I can’t tell if she’s excited or distressed.”
“I got it, I got it!” Hannah left the key in the lock and pushed the reluctant door. “Oh-h-h…” She stopped and Carolina stumbled into her. “It’s so pretty!”
And it was. Carolina rested a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and smiled at the familiar hall and stairway, in better repair than she had ever seen them. Pale yellow walls and white trim. Stairs of fine-grained old wood—pine, Freddy guessed. Like the floors. And the stair railing.
“A house somebody oughta be living in,” he said. “Somebody sliding down these banisters, keeping ’em dusted.” In the past, Carolina thought, he would have suggested that Hannah—or she!—do just that! No, he was subdued.
“Well, the right somebody.” Then as he looked at her quizzically, “My sister was making noises about moving here until I phoned her about the damage and asked that she help me pay for repairs.” Carolina chuckled remembering the sudden wariness in Collie’s voice. “She would see what they could do…but haven’t heard from her since.”
Freddy was surprised. “A sister? Didn’t know you had a sister.”
“I don’t really…lots older…”
Hannah had dashed into the large room off to their left and cried, “The fireplace has a mantel to hang lots of stockings!”
“Did she grow up here, too?” Freddy crossed the room, stopping to stroke the fine old mantel, then moved on to look out one of two long side windows.
“No. Collie was a teenager when I was born.” She joined him at the window, remembering a swing and, a bit sadly, a pleasant but rare time when Collie had pushed her so high she’d felt she was flying. “She and my brother lived with my parents, were old enough to go with them to the gigs. But take a baby? Out of the question.” She hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but Freddy scrutinized her.
“So you were with your grandmother before your folks were killed?”
“Most of the time. I was twelve when that happened and I moved in for good.” She smiled up at him. Goodness. Had he grown? Or had she just forgotten? It had been a while.
“And what did they do—your siblings?” He gazed down at her. But she shook her head catching a quivering lip in her teeth. She actually had no idea, and he turned back to the window. Then, “Hey, we’d better see what Buzzy Bee is up to.”
They found her upstairs at the window where the tree had fallen. She turned, smiling. “That old tree is all broken! But it has little baby trees coming out.”
Carolina joined her and looked down at what was left of her Gran’s beloved fir. Cedar, she thought. Yes, small sprigs of green had sprouted here and there from the creviced trunk. Maybe…no, she mustn’t get more attached to the place. Though Gran had left her comfortably secure, she couldn’t afford the upkeep of an old house, if she was ever to get away to school.
Rent it maybe? She must talk with an agent…
“You know anybody ready to buy a house?” she asked without turning.
Until his silence made her turn. He was leaning on the doorframe, a thoughtful expression on his face as if about to say something, something she felt she wanted to hear.
“I’ll buy it!” Hannah cried. “My mama and I will buy it!”
Carolina laughed. “You and your mama have a nice house with two chimneys.”
“But my mama says we may have to move. My friend Brincy at school had to move and she got a beautiful house, bigger than her old one.”
This brought Freddy off the doorframe, and Carolina stepped back to prop on the windowsill.
“Why on earth would you have to move?” she blurted, realizing even before she finished speaking, this was not the thing for someone outside the family to ask.
Hannah, wide-eyed, put both hands over her mouth as Freddy made swift strides to kneel beside her. Even as he took her in his arms with “That’s a great big secret, I bet. And Buzzy Bee, we won’t say a word!” she sobbed. Then drew back but clung to him as she looked from him to Carolina. “My mama said if I told she would take away Boyfriend!”
Carolina’s gasp was audible. “Oh, Hannah…forget I asked you! And we will never tell! And sweetheart, I would never let anyone take Boyfriend! I love him, too!”
Freddy, straightening, raised his brows at her. Quite a promise…
Miss Geneva’s living room was shadowed even at noon. She could hardly see Betts and her aunt, but Carolina had the feeling they were holding hands, which they quickly dropped. The twin chairs had been pulled close, and Betts moved now to reach for the banker’s lamp. It would not expose red eyes or tearstains. But even if it had, Carolina doubted they would notice, being too busy creating false smiles and cheerful voices of their own.
“You must’ve had a nice walk!” Miss Geneva said as Hannah tore free of Freddy and went to her, embracing her middle. “Tired you out? How about gingerbread and hot apple juice?”
Hannah, with the resilience of childhood, nodded vigorously.
“I’ll get it—want to help?” Carolina held a hand out to Hannah.
“Hey, me too!” And Freddy grabbed the hand which Carolina, with exaggerated indignation, shook free. But it felt good to have a moment of the old Freddy back.
Miss Geneva laughed almost naturally, but Betts rose. “Afraid it’s too near lunch. We better get home! And we have some straightening up to do. Our daddy’s coming home tonight!” The smile at her daughter would have done justice to a Halloween mask. Hannah clutched Carolina, who looked helplessly down at her. Then forcing her own unsuccessful smile, she said, “We’ll wrap some gingerbread for you to take! Even enough for your daddy!”
“Great!” Betts voiced some of her old vigor. “Daddy loves gingerbread!” Carolina, meeting her eyes, read into those words: And that might save us.
Days warming into summer. Freddy spent more time on his bike. And Carolina wondered what he did with all that time. He seemed to be steering clear of this household. Each time he came, Miss Geneva had yard work for him. But she was afraid that was not what kept him away.
Then as she was leaving the grocery on a particularly humid afternoon… “Hey! Caro! Need some help with those sacks?”
“‘Caro’?” She stopped the cart and stared.
His bike chortling, he swung close, grinning. The old Freddy? He put one foot to the pavement. “Carolina is just too long to say, as much as I like to say your name.”
She continued to stare. That he had acted so mature when they had Hannah with them and toured the house, and now acted…well, like Freddy. Trying to re-establish the old relationship or deliberately keep her off balance?
“But you don’t have to say it at all!” Pique at the recent rarity of his visits…
“I know! But I’m in love! And I don’t want to forget her name!” He shrugged then extended helpless hands.
Carolina’s silence was long. Of course he was teasing…but in a new cruel way. “Maybe you should,” she said, her voice not quite steady.
Propping his bike, then, still grinning, he reached for a sack and over it thrust his face into hers as he walked to the car. “Never! You will eventually realize that I am irresistible—any eggs in here?”
She dropped a sack of Fancy Feast. Freddy shook his head reprovingly and bent for it. As he straightened, “You see, we should be somewhere making out, not fooling with cat food!” He put the last bag in the car and turned smiling. This exaggerated version of the old Freddy lifted an open hand to the sky. “Too bad…it looks like rain.” And with the quizzical smile regarded his stunned listener for several heartbeats. “Caro…better luck next time.” Then he climbed on his bike, secured his helmet, and with a salute roared off.
Halfway home, as she began to come out of her shock and realize what had just happened—teasing so intense that his protestations were mockery (and had she wanted them to be true?)—the rain came, gentle at first, but changing to big, hard splatters. Through gritted teeth she hissed as she pulled under the carport, “Get soaked, Freddy. Good and soaked!” Then a twinge of guilt. But it was because of her…because he had stopped to help her. Help her? Or hurt her? As she slammed the car door, and the rain from the carport roofline splattered her ankles, she allowed herself a tight, unhappy little laugh.
“Well, he’s coming,” Miss Geneva greeted her as she lowered the first sack onto the table. Then, at her puzzled look, “Garrett…old Mr. Gleason. He says his leg is better, but the earliest Garret can get him is week after next. He’s not happy. Typical. He always wanted everything yesterday.”
Catching her breath, Carolina, breathless from more than the bags of groceries, leaned on the table. “And are you happy?”
Miss Geneva pulled out a chair and pushed her walker aside settling by a sack and straining to lift out cans. “Apprehensive would be more like it.”
Carolina turned to go for the last sack. “Well, at least he’s given you plenty of warning.” Her employer stopped with a can in midair.
“Warning?”
Carolina realized her error. “Well, you know, have the house all clean, a snack to offer.” She grinned, “And you all dolled up.”
Miss Geneva pretended to throw the can at her.
Twelve
Rapping on the glass section of the front door. Of course that would be him. Scorning the old doorbell. Probably thought it didn’t work anymore. She had told Carolina she wanted to greet him. And there he stood. Tall, gray, and not quite so slim, face not quite so arrogant in a way that reminded Miss Geneva of a pillow that’s lost some stuffing.
“Garrett Gleason,” she whispered, as now she realized she hadn’t believed he would come.
A one-sided grin over tobacco-yellowed teeth. “Hello, Gen.”
A car was pulling from the curb, and someone waved. Miss Geneva lifted a weak hand and stepped back.
“I really didn’t believe…” she said, “that you could still be alive.”
“Ah, the devil looks after his henchmen!”
“Come in, come in…to your right…” She motioned toward the living room.
Closing the front door for her, he took in the walker, then studied her face. His voice was surprisingly gentle. “You look fine, Gen. How’s it going with you?”
She made her way to her chair near the coffee table and motioned him to its mate. “Would you like coffee? Or tea?”
He settled, crossing one knee over the other and wincing. So he really did have a fall. But old mischief brightened his dark eyes. “Am I not due a sherry from the missed birthday party?”
She straightened. Asking for something not offered! But he had never been one to let manners interfere with what he wanted. And his grin brought back old times when even her heart had fluttered a bit. He lifted a finger. “Plenty left, Garret told me.”
Miss Geneva reached for the Shakespearean bell Carolina had brought from her bedside table. (To impress the guest?) But already the girl stood in the doorway smiling her winsome smile.
“Hello, Mr. Gleason. I’m Carolina.” She came into the room, extending her hand. “And I’ll bring that sherry tout suite!”
“Ah, lovely girl!” He rose, perhaps not quite as gracefully as a few decades ago but still, Geneva reluctantly noticed there was a special ease. Yes, he exhibited the source of his grandson’s social poise as he reached to grasp Carolina’s hand. Which, when he released it, she clutched as if to preserve the feel of his. “A sherry, Miss Geneva?”
Tout suite? She stared at this girl she thought she knew so well. She’d never heard a hint of French before! At her “Please,” Carolina ducked out and Garrett turned back to his chair with a slight grimace. Or is he working on me? Miss Geneva wondered, still giving him a sympathetic frown.
“The knee, Garrett…how’s the knee?”
But he leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on knees. “Geneva, tell me what you thought of my gifts. And the book…the professor’s book. Had you seen it before?”
Right to the point. He still knew how to throw her off balance. “Well, Garrett…interesting…”
“Did you read the stories? Guess which one was mine?”
So that was it. He had come to laud it over her. The big moment after all his years of waiting. A few words from her could ruin it all. The thought brought a sardonic smile, which she held as Carolina returned, placing glasses of amber liquid on the table between them.
Then, as he lifted his, “Haven’t read them yet.” She laughed. “I’m sure I’ll recognize yours—head and shoulders above the rest! We’ll have to talk about them another time. For now I want to ask you about some of the folks in the yearbook, 1946, Garrett! Are any still alive?”
His laugh rose ceilingward, and she watched the strings of flesh stretch in the old neck. “Admirable effort, Gen. But I won’t let you off that way. Am staying with Garret tonight so you have the evening to read them. Well-l-l, could give you till noon tomorrow…”
His audacity took her breath away and she spilled a bit of sherry on the table. Dabbing at it with the linen napkin, she wasn’t sure she heard his next remark correctly. Her hand stilled. “What?”
He leaned forward again and lowered his voice. “Also need to talk about my grandson’s involvement with your niece, I believe she is?”
Garret had talked to his grandfather? The damp napkin still hung in midair. He laughed again. “Is that a flag of truce?”
Miss Geneva dropped her hand to her lap. “Truce?”
“Well, she seems a decent girl, and for old friendship’s sake, thought I’d stop things before her hopes got too high.”
Miss Geneva suddenly saw Garrett Gleason in a red mist. Hopes too high! A decent girl? Her Elizabeth! So…so outrage really did make one see red!
He turned the delicate sherry glass in long, knobbed fingers. She watched him take a swallow. Her voice felt scratchy as an old Victrola needle. “I don’t think you need to worry. She tells me things and she hasn’t mentioned marriage…or him often!” The vain old rooster! Did he fancy his charisma was so powerful it could live on in a grandson?
“Then she’s keeping things from you.”
And Miss Geneva wadded the damp napkin in her fist as if preparing to throw…but put it on the table, knuckles white. “You think it’s the Gleason fortune she’s after.”
“Geneva…” He put the sherry aside to wave a placating hand.
“That’s ludicrous! She doesn’t need money.”
“Geneva! It’s not money, Lord, no! It’s people!”
She stared, her hands seeking each other. “People?”
He regarded her grimly, silently for too many ticks of the grandfather in the hall. “My god. Maybe he hasn’t told… Elizabeth, isn’t it? And that’s why she hasn’t told you.” He turned his focus to the long window. “The…the coward. I’ll see that he does. Damned if I’ll do that boy’s dirty work again.”
“People, Garrett? What people?”
Suddenly he looked genuinely sad. “I’ve said too much.” He struggled up. “Sorry, Gen.” She glared. “You must tell me.”
“No. He must tell you. Ask him.”
“Start something that could ruin my niece’s happiness? No. You brought it up. You can’t leave without explaining.”
But he was. Leaving.
“I wanted it to be a happy time, Gen, this visit. A kind of peacemaking after all those years at UGA.” He sighed deeply, still genuinely troubled. “The phone? Have to call my ride.”
She stiffened; suddenly everything hurt. “I will not read the stories until you tell me.”
Halfway across the room he stopped. Turned and gave her a crooked grin. “Same ol’ Gen.” He took a step back and flinched, perhaps as much from frustration as the knee. “Tell you what. You read the stories and I will make him tell you.”
“Make him?”
A bitter laugh. “Oh, he does like running my businesses, Dear Heart! He won’t want to lose one. He’ll tell the girl.”
How many times, years ago, had she heard that endearment addressed to other girls? And disgust tightened her throat. “If it takes this to make him honest, he’s not for my niece. No, Garrett! I don’t want my Elizabeth in a family that deals in threats. You can’t direct people’s lives with threats!”
“Ah, how naive you are, Gen. Still.” His smile, though troubled, was almost affectionate. “You’d never guess how many lives I’ve changed with threats.”
So Garrett Gleason was still Garrett Gleason. But he had the grace to appear momentarily embarrassed by his revelation. Defensively, “Gen, a little power helps in a cruel world… And it is a cruel world. Haven’t you learned that yet?”
