Hungry Spirits

by Alice Duncan

  I’d just buttoned my robe when, sure enough, Lucy bustled up to me, smiling. She’s a performer, too. “Daisy, Mr. Hostetter told me he’d already asked you about singing a duet next week.”

  “He did. ‘This Is My Father’s World.’ That’s a nice one to begin the Thanksgiving season.”

  “I love the tune to it. We can practice on Thursday.” Thursdays were choir-practice days. “But we probably should plan another get-together or two before next Sunday.”

  After mulling the matter over for approximately ten seconds, I said, “Why don’t you come over tonight after supper? We can practice then.”

  “Good idea. But won’t we need a piano?”

  “I can play our piano at home,” said I, feeling slightly superior even though I was an alto. “I’m sure Mr. Hostetter will let me take the music home.”

  “Oh, that’s right! I forgot you could play the piano. I’m so jealous. My mother made me take piano lessons when I was little, but I hated practicing. Now I wish I’d kept it up.”

  “I always enjoyed practicing, which probably means I’m strange, but it’s true.”

  We laughed about that for a minute. Then I said, “And you can come over next Saturday evening, too. That way we’ll be fresh and ready on Sunday.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  I had a brilliant idea—at least it seemed like one at the time. “I know! Why don’t you come to dinner on Saturday? Aunt Vi is a marvelous cook, and we can practice after dinner. I can take you home afterwards.” Lucy lived with her parents on Los Robles Avenue not too far away from our house—not that distance mattered, since I had our lovely new Chevrolet.

  “Thank you! I’d love to do that.”

  We entered the choir loft that Sunday as happy as two tuneful clams.

  The rest of that day was peaceful if not happy, and Billy and I took Spike for a walk after dinner, which we ate at noon on Sundays. I think everyone does, although I’m not sure why. Aunt Vi fixed fried chicken, carrots, mashed potatoes and gravy, and she’d baked an apple pie for dessert. We all ate too much. Therefore, it felt good to get out into the fresh air and walk off some of our overindulgence.

  I was eager to chat with someone about Miss Emmaline Castleton and what she might hire me to do, but Billy held negative views about my work, so I held my tongue during our walk. While I pushed Billy in his wheelchair, he held Spike’s leash. Since his illness earlier in the year, he’d nearly stopped trying to walk. That worried me because I didn’t want him to give up on life completely. Yet I didn’t want to nag him, either. Billy didn’t take kindly to nagging. Still, I decided to hazard a question, believing that to try to do something and fail must be better than not to try to do anything at all.

  “Would you like to practice walking a little bit, Billy?” Then I held my breath and prayed he wouldn’t get mad at me.

  He didn’t. “I don’t see the point, but if it would make you happy, I’ll give it a try.”

  It wasn’t a particularly gracious response on his part, but I didn’t react. “Why don’t I take Spike’s leash, and you can hold on to your chair?”

  “Why not?” The words came out on a weary sigh, and my heart gave a spasm.

  So I took Spike’s leash and Billy struggled out of his chair, which I held steady so it wouldn’t roll away from him. I was developing the world’s strongest arm muscles, thanks to my husband’s delicate health. Every now and then I’d look at my shoulders in the mirror and hope they wouldn’t get any bulkier. Muscles are fine on football players, but I had an image to protect. A delicate, wafting mien, along with a pale and mysterious look, is my stock in trade, for the love of goodness. It was a mien difficult for me to maintain at the best of times, as I was naturally a robust and healthy person.

  Nevertheless, I’d do anything for Billy. He’d sacrificed his health—indeed, his life—for his country. The least I could do for him was bear up through the aftermath. “Are you steady?” I asked once he stood beside the wheelchair.

  “I think so.”

  “Do you want to put your arm around my shoulder or hold on to the chair?”

  “I’ll try using the chair.”

  In the crisp November sunshine, Billy’s face looked pale and pasty, and it worried me. I’d talked to Dr. Benjamin dozens of times about the state of Billy’s health, or lack of it, and the doctor and I both knew the poor man was probably not long for this world. I wanted to cry whenever I thought about losing my darling Billy—even though he’d stopped being darling in approximately 1918. He was still my Billy, and I still loved him, so I put up with his uneven temper and tried my best not to react when he lost it. Today, he only looked weak and sick, and I wished I could take his burdens onto myself.

  Such was not to be, however, so I attempted to maintain a cheery aspect for all three of us. Spike, of course, didn’t have any trouble being cheerful. In fact, I do believe the dog would have been happy if it were he, and not Billy, whose health was so precarious. I suppose a person can learn a lot from a dog, if he—or in this case, she—wanted to. Dogs suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune just as humans do, but you don’t see a dog dwelling on its problems or getting crabby and brooding, do you? No, you don’t. Dogs seem very accepting of their fate.

  Unfortunately, Billy and I were humans, and we didn’t have Spike’s ability to look on the bright side of life.

  It occurred to me that perhaps Miss Emmaline Castleton might understand the burdens I had to bear, but then I told myself not to be absurd. Miss Castleton was rich as Croesus. I was only a poor middle-class fraud. For some reason, that thought made me sad, and I wondered if Miss Castleton had anyone to confide in about her secret woes. I hoped she had a dog to keep her company, at least.

  Then, my mental wanderings came to an abrupt halt.

  “I can’t do this any longer,” Billy said after we’d walked no more than half a block.

  Instantly I held the chair still. “Are you sure?”

  “Dammit, of course I’m sure.” His voice held a bitter combination of frustration and anger.

  I swallowed the retort dancing on my tongue, since it wouldn’t have done any good. Besides, Billy hated his problems even more than I did. “All right. I’ll hold the chair while you settle yourself.”

  Growling like a sulky bear, Billy did as I recommended. “Why don’t we go back home.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  I swallowed hard. “You don’t want to walk any farther?”

  “Oh, I want to walk,” he said. “I can’t walk, is the problem. There’s no point in both of us ruining our health.”

  “Walking is good for us, Billy,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “Walking won’t ruin anyone’s health. Besides, Spike needs his exercise. Vi’s been feeding him too many treats.” This wasn’t technically true, but I’d noticed before that changing the topic of conversation from Billy’s unhappy condition to Spike sometimes settled the tension that seemed to build up around Billy and me every time we were alone together, a fact that made my heart ache. My heart always ached in those days. Stupid heart.

  At that moment, a car pulled to a stop at the curb beside Billy, Spike and me. Spike began his usual happy-greeting dance, punctuating it with gleeful barks, and I looked over to see none other than Sam Rotondo climbing from the machine. It was one of the few times since I’d met him that I’d been happy to see Sam. Billy never acted grouchy around Sam, although I don’t know why that was. Maybe he didn’t think being grouchy was manly or something.

  “Good afternoon, you two.”

  “Hey, Sam,” said Billy, cheering up slightly.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. I hadn’t meant the question to be impolite, but it certainly was.

  “I was just out for a Sunday drive and thought I’d stop by and see if you’d like to join me,” said Sam, ignoring the tone, if not the intent, of my question.

  “A drive?” Billy said.

  “A drive where?” I asked.

  Sam
shrugged. “I don’t know. We can drive up into the foothills, if you want to. I’m sure Spike would like to chase some chipmunks.”

  I was sure he would, too. I glanced inquiringly at Billy, who seemed to be pondering Sam’s offer. It was a very nice offer. Sam knew how Billy hated being the way he was, and to give him credit, he did his best to assist in making Billy’s life more bearable. Heck, he and Billy and my father played gin rummy together all the time, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because Sam loved the game, but because it was something both Billy and my father, who had bad heart problems, could do. Maybe he wasn’t quite as bad as I liked to think him.

  Naw.

  “A drive sounds like a good idea,” Billy said after thinking about it for a minute or two. He didn’t sound awfully enthusiastic, but he never did about anything at all anymore.

  “It does,” I agreed, kind of surprised to discover I wasn’t fibbing. “Are you sure you want Spike and me to go along, too?”

  “Sure. Why not?” said Sam with another shrug.

  “We’d better tell my folks we’re taking a drive so they don’t fret.” I’d caused my parents enough worries this past year. I’d been on my best behavior ever since February, even though the incident then hadn’t been my fault. Well, not much of it had been, anyhow.

  So Billy, Spike and I rolled on home, and Sam followed in his car, a nice, roomy Hudson. Then Sam and I got Billy into the front seat of his machine, and Spike and I piled into the back. Thanks to my huge dinner, I fell asleep to the desultory conversation between Billy and Sam, which centered mostly around sports. Billy used to love to play baseball, and evidently Sam had played football during his youth in New York. I awoke when the Hudson turned off the paved road and onto a bumpy dirt track.

  “Where are we?” I asked groggily.

  “I thought we might drive to Millard Canyon,” said Sam.

  “It’s pretty up there,” added Billy.

  “Spike will love it,” I said through a yawn. Patting my mouth, I said, “Sorry.”

  Billy grinned, which was a distinct improvement over his mood prior to Sam’s sudden intrusion into our Sunday.

  It was a rocky climb in the big car, but eventually we made it to the canyon, which truly is a pretty place, with a nice stream running through it and lots of trees and bushes and cabins. People with money used the canyon to get away from the trials of city living every now and then. I understand they aren’t allowed to buy those cabins, but have to lease them for something like a hundred years. Sounded strange to me, but I wasn’t rich and wouldn’t ever be able to rent, lease or buy a getaway cabin anywhere at all.

  Sam had thought of everything that day. When the Hudson came to a stop, he went to the auto’s rear end and untied a folding metal chair he’d stowed away. I hadn’t even noticed the chair before, which goes to show how observant I am.

  “I thought you could sit on this while Spike chases squirrels, Billy,” he said.

  It was a brilliant idea, but I didn’t say so, my relationship with Sam being what it was. I did, however, smile at him. “Thanks, Sam.”

  “Yeah,” said Billy. “That’s a great idea.” He smiled, too. I think that was the first genuine smile I’d seen on my poor husband’s face all day long. I spread a blanket over his shoulders, and he huddled in the chair, looking almost happy for quite a while as we watched his dog romp.

  The air was chilly in the foothills, but Spike didn’t mind. He chased around like a dog possessed, barking at squirrels and birds, leaping in the air after falling leaves, and at one point jumping into the stream.

  “Hey!” I hollered. “It’s too cold for that!”

  But Spike didn’t think so. He had a rip-roaring good time. So did Billy, who said, “What the heck, Daisy. He’s wearing a fur coat.”

  Actually, I was enjoying myself, too, until Sam said, “Say, did that woman come back to your class yesterday? The one who disappeared during the first class?”

  There went my good mood. I glared at Sam. “Yes, she did. What I want to know is why you’re so interested in her, Sam Rotondo.”

  This time he gave me a half answer, which was about twice as much as he’d given me before. “I’m not really interested in her at all. I just think it’s curious that as soon as the law showed up, she vanished. That type of behavior makes my detectival instincts stand up and salute.”

  “Hmm. That’s the only reason?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You’re not thinking she’s a criminal or anything? There’s not a wanted poster for her up at the police station?”

  He growled, “Cripes. No, there’s no wanted poster up at the police station. If there were, I’d have arrested her by now. I don’t know what she is. I only thought it was odd that she ran away as soon as I arrived.”

  I didn’t believe him, and it took a good ten minutes for my happy mood to return. Thank God for Billy’s dog or it never would have.

  The rest of our outing passed peacefully enough, and Sam drove us home in time for cold chicken, green salad and potato patties that Vi’d made from the leftover mashed potatoes from dinner. This, after I’d absolutely stuffed myself at noon. I’ll never have the “slim, boyish” figure the fashion magazines tell us we women are supposed to have, I guess.

  Sam, Billy and Pa played gin rummy after supper as usual, and Aunt Vi and Ma read. I practiced playing “This Is My Father’s World” on our piano in order to be as competent with the music as possible when Lucy showed up.

  She did that very thing during my third run-through of the music.

  “Hey, Lucy,” said I, opening the door for her. I waved to her father, who had drawn his automobile up at the curb in front of our house, to let him know all was well.

  “It’s cold tonight,” Lucy said, shivering to prove it, as she came in. I took her woolen coat and hung it on the coat tree beside the front door. She wore the same outfit she’d worn to church that morning, a pretty tweed suit in muted browns with a loose belt tied just below her waist. Lucy was long and lean, like the magazines kept telling us we should be, so the style worked on her very well. You wouldn’t know she had a curve on her, if you know what I mean.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone.” Then, deciding that was a stupid thing to have said, I amended the statement. “Well, I guess you know everyone in my family.” Leading her toward the piano and pausing beside the card table, I said, “Lucille Spinks, you know my family, but this is Sam Rotondo. Sam’s a detective for the Pasadena Police Department.”

  To my utter astonishment, Lucy blushed! When I introduced her to Sam! Good heavens, what did this mean?

  Sam and Pa had risen politely when Lucy entered the room. Billy smiled at her from his chair. “Hey, Lucy,” said he.

  “Good evening, Billy.”

  Sam, bowing slightly, said, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Spinks.” I’d never known him to be so polite.

  “Happy to meet you, Detective,” Lucy said back at him, her cheeks positively glowing.

  Well, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t know what was going on with Lucy, but I decided I didn’t like it. After a round of “hellos” from my family, but before she and Sam had stopped grinning at each other, I yanked Lucy toward the piano.

  Our rehearsal went really well, except that Lucy kept sneaking peeks at Sam as we sang. In an attempt to discern what fascinated her so, I looked at him once or twice as well. Sam wasn’t a bad-looking man. He had an olive complexion that went well with his last name, black hair and brown eyes. He was tall and not skinny, as Billy was, but not fat either. I expect he weighed a little more than he’d like to if I’d asked, which I never would, of course. I still couldn’t understand Lucy’s fascination, however, and I couldn’t figure out why said fascination rankled with me. I sure didn’t have designs on Sam Rotondo! Shoot, I’d resented him for a couple of years by the time that night rolled around, mainly because he kept suspecting me of doing illegal or immoral things.

  I decided that my irritation stemmed from the f
act that, if Lucy’s attraction was reciprocated, Sam might desert my family and, therefore Billy, for Lucy instead. Billy’d lost too much in his life already; he couldn’t afford to lose a good friend like Sam, too.

  That explanation didn’t sit comfortably with me, but it was the only one I could come up with that would account for the unusual reaction I had to Lucy’s obvious curiosity about Sam Rotondo. The sole comfort I could garner from the situation was that Sam seemed oblivious to Lucy’s fascination with him. I decided not to think about it. We got a good deal of practicing done that night, and Lucy’s father picked her up, so I didn’t have to drive her home. Not that I’d have minded.

  Lucy and I practiced our duet again on Thursday night at choir rehearsal, to the applause of the rest of the choir and Mr. Hostetter. Their approval made me feel a trifle better about life in general.

  This happy attitude lasted until Saturday night, when Lucy came to dinner at our house. I’d conducted myself quite well at the cooking class that day, amazingly enough. Flossie had made name tents, so I got to fix names to faces. Gertrude still appeared more frightened that I deemed appropriate, although I didn’t know why and nobody told me.

  We fixed crumbed potatoes, the recipe for which appeared on page eighteen of Sixty-Five Delicious Dishes. It was the simplest recipe I could find in the stupid book, because I already had enough to do that day. I’d aimed to conduct a subtle and clever interrogation of my students, paying particular attention to Gertrude Minneke, but I didn’t get the chance to do so, because she ran off the instant the class was over, clutching her crumbed potatoes as if she expected them to save her life. Nuts.

  I took the leftovers home for dinner. Dinner was, of course, wonderful, because Aunt Vi cooked it. My paltry potatoes went pretty well with the beef loaf she fixed. Thank goodness none of my family members mentioned my cooking class, because the fact that I taught the class at all still embarrassed me. This, in spite of three weeks of moderate successes. It was evidently going to take me a good deal more than three weeks without a disaster to overcome a lifetime’s worth of cooking failures.