I nodded the rest of the time. My silence bothered her none.
Later after lunch, I sat out on the porch gazing at the street and neighbors, and moved my knees in and out to make the bench swing sway. The lemonade I sipped tasted too sour and didn’t take the fever out of the day. Trees lined on up and down this street, nice change from the open layout of other neighborhoods. Bob picked it when we first married. Quiet and cooler than most spots. Ice cubes clinked against the glass when I set it down, my hands sliding over the wet sides. With my fan, I tried to make a draft, anything.
Down the street walked Phillip. His gray hat and slow amble told me who it was. He waved at me, slowed by my gate, but kept going. Soon the trees and the corner swallowed even his shadow. He wandered all over town usually. In fact, he stayed tan the whole year round with how often he was out, rather than his natural pale skin. But I didn’t think I’d seen him down here unless he worked doing an odd chore or two for some of the older folks on our block. Soon back he came, slowing again in front of our house.
When he did that a third time, I yelled to him, “Phillip, would you like a glass of lemonade?”
Relief passed over his face and his shoulders relaxed. He took off his hat and sat on the stairs at my feet.
“Good day,” he said. He took the glass I handed him and drank, more like guzzled, down the liquid. “It’s a fine day.”
“Yes. Hot.” A headache had moved into my forehead. And my neck felt heavy. Every limb I had to move slowed to a snail’s pace.
I felt strange in the moments that followed. He didn’t say a thing. Finally it was too much for me.
“I can’t read your mind, Phillip,” I said.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry to be taking your time.”
“Do you need something?”
“Well, there was that accident yesterday. The girl …”
“What about her?”
He leaned forward. “She came to me. I just don’t know what to do with her.”
“Came to you? You mean she’s staying with you?” At least she didn’t go off the face of the earth. But still, this man with a young girl? What could he know?
“I found her hiding in my stand of trees. She looked cold, shivering and dirty, so I got her to come inside last night. She clung to my neck so long, I thought she might not let go. She wouldn’t speak much. But when I was downstairs, I heard her up in my loft, crying and mumbling.”
“Sounds like you did fine. It was good of you to see to her safety, Phillip. We’ll have to find her someplace else, though.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I know. But she’s told me she’s got no family. There’s no one, just her mama. Name’s Elisha.”
“Let me see what I can do this afternoon. I’ll come out to your place after.” Now why did I go and do that?
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Phillip tipped his hat on and off and on again.
He skirted down the road. I sighed. She’s only a child, and every child needed a roof.
“There isn’t any place for a child like that here.”
I just stared at Erma when she said that. I knew it, too. Maybe a young couple wanted a child so badly that it didn’t matter. Bob and I were too old to be raising kids now. Besides, I’d never been real comfortable around the young ones.
“We should at least ask around,” I said.
“No use, I say,” said Erma.
I decided I was on my own. I walked down Main Street, thinking deep. Who needed a child?
I got back a lot of shaking heads. Even Mr. Toby, with no children yet, said they were trying for their own. Many folks related the no to age or too big a family already. Erma spoke right. I hated her being right. No one wanted a child like that. In some ways, maybe I was too old to understand. Minds just weren’t changing.
On the way home, I stopped in at Newberry’s, the TV, radio, and basically anything else for the house store. Bob managed it during the day. Most of what people bought were the little things. It was rare to have the sale of a TV, so Bob said. Mayor had one, of course. Most folks stood outside the shopwindow to watch when anything decent happened on the screen. They crowded together, snow or heat, noses pointed at the TV, eyes focused. I told Bob we didn’t need that boxy thing. And after seeing those people move into a kind of trance, faces unchanged, I knew we would never have one in our house.
“I want to drive out to Phillip’s,” I said to Bob. “I’ll see how the girl’s doing. Maybe she could stay there awhile longer.”
“Seems the only thing, now.” He handed me the keys to our car.
The drive out didn’t take much time. I had wanted to figure a way to tell Phillip and the girl things might not work. Nobody came to mind. What was there to do?
I could corner a car like any man. Bob always got a kick out of me pulling around curves and turns with no fear. What I didn’t like were the bumps on this dirt path down to Phillip’s house. I held the steering wheel tight and straight, but the car and I still swayed. You’d a thought the bouncing under me would’ve jostled up some answer.
Nothing came to me in those ten minutes.
“Come on in,” Phillip said, opening his door.
His home looked small. But the inside was clean and surprisingly neat. The stove stood in the middle with a pipe leading out to the roof. Underneath a window straight ahead sat a sink. Next to it, a shelf lined the wall with dishes, an ax, gloves, and cans of soup. On the floor by that sink lay something like a bed with old, yellowed quilts and pillows. The loft ladder leaned against a wall.
I didn’t see the girl. But shadows moved up in the loft. Phillip pulled out a chair for me, and we sat at a tiny square table.
“Did you make this?” I said, fingering the rough details.
“Yes ma’am.”
“This is really good,” I said. “Well, I went about the town today. I’m afraid this may take longer than we thought.”
“She’s welcome here. Can’t rush a good home.”
“No, I guess not. Phillip, I talked with quite a few people. It may come about that we won’t find her a home here.”
“Maybe so. Maybe another town, then.” The smile on his face didn’t waver.
My eyes weren’t passing along the message I was trying to give. I lowered my voice because I knew our voices carried upwards to small ears.
“I mean, she may need to go to a home for girls like her. Maybe an orphanage,” I said.
“I doubt that. She’s a good girl. She’s been helping around here, cooking, gathering wood. And she’s good mannered—”
“I’m sure she is. But we have to look and see that it simply might not happen.”
“Well, ma’am, I tend on the positive. I know there’ll be something.” Again, the smile.
I sighed and pushed back from the table. “Okay. I’ll keep trying for the next few days.”
“Thank you. Everything will be fine.” Phillip took my hand and squeezed it. The warmth spread up my wrist, and I could feel it make an appearance in my cheeks. Maybe there were a few other people I could ask.
I turned my head around the large living room. My last stop today included the mayor’s wife, Millicent. They lived in the biggest house in town. Syrus George Burke had the record as the longest-sitting mayor—fifteen years.
Millicent Burke carried coffee and cups. She sat down on the edge of the high-backed chair and crossed her ankles.
We both sipped coffee for a few minutes. Seemed out of place with the air cooking. I only drank enough to be polite. The quiet reminded me of my time with Phillip. Only this time it was me who wanted something. Some of the silence came from lack of children. Their only one died at age two, a little girl. A bad flu.
“Millicent, how is Syrus doing?” I longed to say Millie. But this one didn’t like nicknames.
“Fine. And Bob?”
“Good.”
I sipped more coffee. The couch I sat on felt uncomfortable and looked an odd, large flower pattern. I never did agree with patterns
. Didn’t need them mixing with everything else. Their windows faced out to a large lawn, woods, and a tree with flowers that had just fallen.
Millicent cleared her throat. I guessed that was my cue.
“Well,” I said. “Do you remember the mother and daughter who came to town a bit ago? They stayed in Martin Toby’s upstairs apartment.”
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes got shiny.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen her cry.
“What a sad thing that happened with the mother.”
“That’s why I’m here. You see, that little girl has no home,” I said.
“No home? How is that possible?”
“She’s out staying with Phillip. She told him her mom was it. No other family.”
“That’s terrible.” Millicent pulled her skirt to straighten it so it fell to her knees. “You’re not here to simply inform me, are you?”
“No. I’ve been all over. Everyone seems full. She can’t stay with Phillip forever.”
“Surely someone has room,” she said.
“That’s why—”
Mayor Burke walked in at that moment. His forehead crinkled. He got like that at church when he noticed kids monkeying around. That would be right before he yelled or scooted them away from each other. I had wondered what the creaking sound had been a minute ago. He’d been listening.
“Good afternoon.” He nodded at me.
I nodded back. “Good afternoon. Sun’s pretty hot today.”
“Hmm,” he said. He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Do you need anything, Millicent?” The hand tilted her just a bit toward him.
“No, I’m fine.”
He nodded at me again—a regular habit of this man—and sauntered out of the room.
Millicent looked down at her cup and traced her finger around the rim. After a sip, she smiled. “I wish you luck.”
I sighed. I guessed asking her for help was not possible. And I guessed I had been feeling it all week. My legs were starting to slip off each other, so I uncrossed them. I added some sugar to my coffee, and we moved our talk to the annual end-of-summer church social. Children created plays; adults ran booths of food, pamphlets, games, and desserts. Most of the town attended. This year’s theme revolved around family and loving thy neighbor.
It took me a long time to make the drive out to Phillip’s. I slowed to a snail crawl and barely hit the gas. The rocks and ruts ran on through my whole body with each moment I moved closer to the hut. How could I give him the news? And his face. The trees that lined the way, tall, thin, and with dark bark, seemed to sway in the direction I came from. Maybe they wanted me to turn back.
“She should be in an orphanage.” I didn’t hold it back or wait through tea. Soon as he opened the door it flew out.
“Elisha’s the one come to me,” he said. “She trusts me. I can’t just give her off to strangers.” Phillip twirled his hat in his fingers. His head hung low. I wondered what he had to be ashamed about.
“I’m sorry. But how can you take care of a little girl? What makes her better off here than in an orphanage?”
“I’ve been doing all that now two weeks. And she talks to me about her life. I listen. Will she get that in some far-off place?”
“You’ve been doing a fine job. But orphanages have resources and knowledge—”
“You’re not understanding. She affected me.” He tapped his chest with a flat hand. “I’m keeping her here if that’s the only option besides sending her off.”
“But she’s not your kin, not your blood.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Past Phillip, I could see out the window. Elisha sat on a swing made from old rope and wood. She kicked her legs in and out. She swung higher than I’ve ever dared fly on those things. Her smile spread wide across her face, and her cheeks flushed red.
Phillip turned toward her. “She hasn’t spent a day without being on that swing, even when it rains.”
In town I hadn’t ever seen her smile like that. Frankly, maybe I couldn’t blame her. When had anyone talked to her? And had anyone given her their sympathies about her mother?
Phillip waited on Elisha while she sat under the tree next to the stained-glass window. The colors from the detailed panes moved over her dress and marked her hair. Mingling churchgoers ignored them. Conversations with Phillip had died down. Everyone had an opinion, and none of them included Elisha staying in our town. The girl swung her feet against the rock she sat on.
In my ear, all I could hear was Erma going on about the horse from Irving’s farm that bucked her off. The other women circled around us and shook their heads.
“Why, Erma, you must have been a sight,” said Susan. She hid a giggle behind her hand.
Coralyn tried to hide a laugh as well. “Oh yes, and in that mud from the rain.”
“I can just picture skirts and boots up in the air—” Maggie interrupted her own comment with a laugh that couldn’t contain itself.
We got struck with it too and let out howls and knee slaps. It was a funny sight to imagine her on the ground. I didn’t see Erma join in. Her eyes seemed to fade a bit. So I stopped and patted her arm. Elisha’s feet still swung, hitting the rock with thump-thumps.
At services no one had sat in the pew with Phillip except Elisha. But he never lost that look of awe. And he didn’t seem to mind the lack of company. Elisha still sat with her head bowed and her hair over her face.
I understood that those in our town had their set ways. But what was so wrong with a little talk? It wasn’t like they had to take the girl in and have her living with them. Although it’d be right in my eyes.
Stepping away from the crowd Erma had drawn, I walked over to Phillip and Elisha.
“Good afternoon,” said Phillip.
“Hello,” I said.
“Elisha, this is Mrs. Gilbert.”
Elisha took my hand, looking at me carefully. She said hello and went back to eating a cookie. Her bites were small, and she chewed in ways to keep the crumbs in her mouth as long as possible.
“How are things?” I asked.
“Good. Good,” Phillip said. “We’ve started to change my place around a bit, make it more comfortable. And Elisha always does the dishes and cleans up.”
The man and this small child looked at each other. His eyes lit on her with pride, like how my father used to look at me. The girl held her eyes down, almost as if to push the compliment away, and yet accept it at the same time. Perhaps she never knew that kind of caring from a near stranger.
“Why don’t you and your husband come by for supper Tuesday night?” Phillip said. “You’ve done so much for Elisha.”
I hesitated. Dinner at Phillip’s?
“We’ll make apple pie for dessert. Elisha makes ’em from her mama’s recipe.”
Elisha peered up at me. Her eyes darkened blacker than normal the longer I took to answer. She knew what I was thinking, I was sure. Could see right through me.
“I’ll talk to Bob. I’m sure we would love to.”
“Seven thirty, then.”
As I made my way over to Bob, I could feel Elisha’s eyes on me.
I told Bob about our invitation.
“It was kind of him to include us,” he said, rubbing my back. “He doesn’t have much in the way of food to entertain with.”
Our car thumped over a few rocks in the road. Bob drove us out this time. I wore one of my Sunday dresses and my favorite shawl. It was the scarf my mama gave me after I married. I covered my shoulders and held tight in it whenever I worried or got nervous. I thought I was both tonight as we drove to Phillip’s. I didn’t know why.
Was he the right person to take care of her? He was a young man, a slow one at that. But no one else wanted her. Really, no one wanted to deal with some embarrassment over her in their house. What embarrassment I wanted to know.
In my lap was my famous cold pasta salad, something to expand the dinner. A gentle wind weaved in through my rolled-down window. Finally, a c
ooling. The air smelled like nature cleaned herself up, like clothes after hanging on the line. I didn’t want to leave the car. Bob came to the door and opened it wide. He held his hand out.
“Come on. It won’t be so bad.”
Elisha ran out the door.
“Phil, they’re here,” she yelled. She ran back inside. I could hear her excited yelps. I had never seen her with that much energy. I expect she didn’t think we’d show.
Bob smiled and steered me inside. Mismatched tin and chipped china plates and cups spread across the table. Handkerchiefs were rolled like napkins. Silverware sat by each plate, the forks, knives, and spoons all in proper eating order.
It was a simple meal. The chicken probably came from ones running around his backyard. Turnips and cucumbers and corn tasted fresh from Phillip’s garden. And the milk ran warm on my tongue, right from the cow’s belly. I hadn’t seen a cow, and I didn’t ask.
“That was the best pasta salad I ever had,” said Phillip. He sat back, hands over his stomach, and rocked up and back.
“Here, let me help you clean up,” I said. I tried to hide my smile. Pride wasn’t something I planned on displaying.
“No, ma’am. You’re the guest.”
But I kept right on picking up plates and so on. I waved him off with my hand. I started some water in the sink. Elisha brought me the last of the dishes and started scraping the leftovers into jars.
The wind stirred a bit more. It moved through the windows and blew loose hair out of my face. Suds dripped down my arms. Elisha dried the dishes with a threadbare cloth. The sky turned to purple and pink. I didn’t know where the sun went so fast.
“That apple pie looks real good,” I said. The crisscross pattern lay straight, and the strips were even. Cinnamon wafted in the air. “So, your mama taught you?”
The girl nodded.
“You’re good at helping.” I paused. She still didn’t speak.
Living on the Borderlines Page 16
