The House on Malcolm Street

by Leisha Kelly

“I need to tell you something.”

  I almost wheeled around. “What? What else? That you think I’m some kind of cheat taking advantage of John’s aunt? Taking whatever I can get? I promise you – we’ll move on when we can! And in the meantime I’ll make sure I’m no burden. I’ll stay out of your way if you’ll let me, and I’ll do everything, anything that Marigold needs – ”

  “Stop. Okay?”

  He sounded broken. So much that I turned. To my surprise, there were tears in his eyes.

  “When I said I couldn’t help you, I didn’t mean I wanted to be hurtful. Okay? I want you to know that.”

  “I – I don’t know what I know! Or what you mean. You’re two different ways and I don’t understand you. But I think – I think you may be right. At least I think it’s useless to try to talk any further.”

  “Maybe. Just let me explain myself. Your crying in church – it got my ire. I got the idea you were putting it on for show – for Marigold’s benefit, and maybe snowing the whole congregation to get on everybody’s good side. Maybe people used to think that of me. But what all else of a mess I am, I’m not a phony – not in church. And I couldn’t stomach it too well.”

  I could scarcely speak in the face of such a confusing accusation. Could he really think I’d been pretending? “I didn’t plan to cry, Mr. Walsh. I . . . I didn’t wish to.”

  “Okay. Thanks for saying so. I’m just telling you why I was cross with you. Skeptical. I saw a woman pull out tears once and snooker a whole roomful of people out of their hard-earned cash. Not saying you’d do that. I was just – just checking where you stood.”

  “On shaky ground in your eyes, apparently.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I took a step away from him. “Don’t bother saying that or anything else. I have no way of knowing the next thing I’ll hear. Please just leave me alone.”

  He stood silent. For a moment I was sure he’d respond. But he only turned and went back into the house. And I sunk to the step and cried.

  18

  Josiah

  What kind of man was I? I’d hit a grieving widow over the head with my foolish suspicions, chased her out of the house, driven her to tears. John’s wife. After all she’d been through.

  The sound of her voice plagued me now, the look of her when she’d said, “I promise you we’ll move on when we can . . .”

  I was the one who should move on. A grown man acting like a child. Dependent on an old woman for the stability I should have been able to find on my own.

  When will you stand on your own two feet and quit leaning on Marigold McSweeney like a crutch?

  “She needs me,” I railed against the familiar voice of accusation in my head. “She’s got no other income and no way to do so many of the things that need done around here.”

  But I really did lean on Marigold. There was no way I could deny that. I counted on her to keep me on track when I couldn’t trust myself. And she should have known not to leave me alone with Leah. I’d done damage that it might not be possible to repair.

  I wanted to go and tell Mari how badly I’d messed up, but it might not be right to interrupt her and Eliza if there was a need being met in that little girl’s life. Better for the child to be enjoying the old Victrola than to go and find her mother in tears yet again.

  I didn’t know how to make this better. Leah had not received my apology very well, and I couldn’t blame her. I wished I could move for her sake. And still find a way to be here for Aunt Mari. The answer would not be as easy as taking biscuits to the Kurchers.

  I finished in the kitchen quickly, my mind racing over the disastrous conversation with Leah. At least now she could see that in my own stupid way I’d been right. There was no chance I could be any help to her. Far better that we make the agreement I’d proposed and avoid each other completely just to minimize the hurt.

  Glancing about, I was careful to be sure all the work was done and everything was back as it should be. Then I headed for my room upstairs so I would not be in the way when Leah came back inside.

  Rein me in, Lord. Help me not to be a plague to anyone. If she’s really got no place else to go, she doesn’t need me attacking her chance at peace.

  In the front hall, at the base of the stairs, I had to stop, almost overcome by a sudden memory. John had come flying down these stairs, two by two. “Joe Walsh is a stinky old horse pie!”

  Of course, he’d just been teasing. We’d teased each other constantly, fought about half the time, and loved every minute of it. What would he think of me now? I could imagine him big and strong, and knocking me flat on the floor with one solid punch.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the air. “Guess I disappoint you along with everybody else.”

  I’d had a Scripture in mind earlier, in Romans, chapter 7. It hadn’t been hard to find because we’d gone over it in Sunday school not long ago. “For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.”

  Pretty depressing, standing alone. But God had given the whole next chapter to show us things set aright again. “If the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwell in you . . .”

  His love was supposed to work all things for good for those that love him. That was what the chapter said, and a whole lot more. Would things work for good with all the ways I’d found of messing things up for people?

  I want to love you truly, Lord. I want to walk after the spirit and not after the flesh. But over and over, time and again, I fall. Oh, wretched man.

  19

  Leah

  What should I do? Mr. Walsh seemed determined to keep me ill at ease. I leaned back against the porch door, shutting my teary eyes and wishing this emotionally trying day to a speedy close. Had he meant to accuse me, or to just see how I’d react? Could he really think I was here under false pretenses, trying to deceive Marigold and her church?

  Perhaps it didn’t matter. I would never ask for money, nor take anything I didn’t work for. He could not shove his guilty conscience onto me.

  I thought I heard the sound of a door again from Mr. Abraham’s house but didn’t move my head or open my eyes. He must be having a family gathering of some sort, for there to be all those people in and out.

  My mind was soon far away, revisiting the horror of last night’s nightmare. My pulse raced a little faster, and I clamped my eyes tighter. Why did I have to dream such things? It was nothing but nonsense, really. I hadn’t been there when John was hit. And what I’d been told was nothing like the scene I’d dreamed. None of it made any sense. The nightmare kept jumping back at me, but it kept changing. Only certain things stayed the same: myself as a child, the train, the terror . . .

  “Ma’am, excuse me.”

  I jumped so forcefully I nearly fell off the step, eyes popping open to meet the source of the unexpected voice. A thin young man in a cap stood before me, his dark eyes shadowed with concern.

  “So sorry to startle you, ma’am. Tell me, please. Are you boarding with Mrs. McSweeney?”

  It took me a moment to register what he was asking. “Yes.”

  “My father asked that I please inform the neighbor. Could you take the message for him that Rabbi Josef Abraham has passed from this world? This morning.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes of course. I’m so sorry for your loss. Please tell Mr. Abraham that we’re so sorry.”

  “I will do that,” the young man said. “Thank you.”

  He turned and walked away, and I sat in a stunned silence for a while. This news, oh, this was bound to change everything. I stood to my feet, feeling shaky.

  I felt odd going back into the house, as though the newly familiar had become strange to me all over again. What could I do? Where would we go?

  Marigold was in a rocking chair beside the solitary window in her room, and Eliza sat on the edge of her bed. They were listening to voices, singing vigorously in a language I couldn’t begin to deci
pher.

  “What do you think?” Marigold asked immediately. “I think it’s an Italian opera. Rosie Batey gave it to me.”

  I sat beside Eliza. “I always liked flowing violins. The same as my mother.” I looked down at the lovely woven rug beneath our feet.

  “Oh, I like violins too,” Marigold said and stopped rocking. She waited in silence, apparently knowing that I had come to say something to her.

  “Aunt Mari,” I started slowly. “A relative . . . a young man . . . just came from Mr. Abraham’s house to tell us – he wanted – I mean he said Mr. Abraham wanted you to know that . . . that Rabbi Josef has passed away.”

  I had no idea how she would react. She was quiet, only sitting for a moment, as if the news took time to sink in. Then she nodded and bowed her head. “Dear Lord, comfort that family and give them peace.”

  I bowed my head with her, and so did Eliza. Then when Mari was done with her prayer, she thanked me for relaying the words and rose to her feet. “I think we have time before the dinner hour to bake a couple of cakes and put together a decent meal. How many people do you think are over there?”

  “Oh my. I don’t know. There have been several in and out, and I have no idea how many may have come with each car.”

  “We’ll need plenty, just in case. Least we can do is share a meal. There’ll be nobody wanting to cook over there, but they still need to eat.”

  I smiled at the kindness, at the natural way it flowed from her thinking. Again I couldn’t think of a time my parents had made such a gesture. Maybe Mother would have if Father had let her. Maybe they never had the means.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon cooking and baking for the Abraham family. Marigold didn’t ask me anything about Josiah, and I didn’t volunteer a word about our unpleasant conversation.

  “Thank you for finishing the pots and pans while I was outside,” I told her while we worked. “I’m sorry I was taking a little break. But I meant to get back to them.”

  “I didn’t do a thing with pots and pans,” she said without looking up from her batter bowl. “Maybe it was Josiah.”

  I could not picture him doing dishes, especially for my benefit, but it must have been so. He was a puzzle, two ways just like I’d told him. Prone to a moment’s kindness and then to be confusingly difficult afterward. I wondered how Marigold had managed with him all this time. But I didn’t ask.

  She had her head full of the neighbors’ needs and the menu she was planning. “Step down to the basement for me and bring up some green beans. Two or three quarts, I think. And a couple of pints of pickles. Let’s make candied apples, what do you think of that? I wish we had more bread made. We’ll have to start a quick bread in addition to this cake.”

  Eliza followed me down the basement stairs. “Mommy? Who died?”

  I took her hand for a moment. “It was Mr. Abraham’s father, honey. He’d been very sick.”

  She was quiet as we walked to the storage shelves. I began selecting the jars we’d need, and she suddenly had a question. “Isn’t Mr. Abraham an old man?”

  “Yes. I would say so.”

  “Then his father must’ve been a very, very old man, right?”

  “Yes. But I’m not really sure how old.”

  “Then is it okay that he went away to heaven?”

  I turned from the shelves to look at her. Perhaps I should have said that God would always make things okay when we lose a loved one, but I couldn’t quite manage such words. “Maybe it’s not entirely so hard when an old person dies,” I told her. “Because at least it’s not such a shock and they’ve a full life behind them. But it’s still a sad time for the family, because they will miss him so much.”

  “I’m sorry that Mr. Abraham is sad.”

  “So am I.”

  The rest of the day seemed unreal. We finished a feast for the Abraham family, with Marigold still wondering if it would all be enough. Josiah carried everything over for us and then walked down the street in the other direction and did not come back until late into the evening. We ate our own supper in solemnity without him.

  20

  Leah

  I was nervous for days that I would have to find a job very quickly or end up homeless again. But I was careful not to share my nervousness with Eliza, and she adjusted very well to her first week of school. On the very first day, we’d made new friends. Dorothy Humphrey was a delightful woman who lived catty-cornered across the street from Marigold. Her daughter, Betty, was in Eliza’s class, and almost immediately we took to walking together to the school and back. That Eliza now had a friend and playmate so close seemed a wonderful thing, but still I worried about the possibility of having to move.

  Marigold attended Rabbi Abraham’s funeral, though I wasn’t sure whether the family had intended her to. She simply felt she must, which I could very well understand. I asked her afterward if she’d had an opportunity to speak with Saul, but she said he was far too busy with family and the affairs of his father’s estate for that.

  “He needn’t concern himself right now with being a neighbor when he’s got so much else to think about,” she told me.

  “But he’s more than that,” I protested. “More than even a very good neighbor.”

  “Right now he’s being a good son.” She left it at that, and I knew it was only right that she should do so.

  While Eliza was in school, I walked about town, getting acquainted with the other businesses and attempting unsuccessfully to find work at one of them. Most of them came right out and told me that if they were looking for help they’d be looking for a man. But they weren’t looking for help. None that I found. Marigold had lost two boarders who had to go elsewhere to look for work. And even though she usually had more than that, she’d told me that she might not get more till things picked up a bit in town.

  Josiah kept to himself so much that I scarcely saw him. Marigold told me that he was spending a lot of time with a friend across town. I wondered if she worried that they might be drinking. I did.

  Not only did dreams of trains continue to plague me but the waking sound of them going through town began to bother me more again as well. Walking through the business streets not far from the tracks, I would jump when I heard the piercing whistle and sometimes start to tremble, even when I’d known the train was coming. Such a foolish plague, but I could not be rid of it, no matter how I tried.

  “No way it could possibly hurt you four blocks away,” I tried telling myself, just as I had at first. But the sound would still stop me in my tracks every time. I began to worry that Eliza would notice these things when she was with me and begin to be afraid, thinking that something was wrong. Sometimes she got very quiet, watching me. But she only asked me once what was the matter, and I managed to dodge the subject, telling her I’d noticed the first chill in the air and had grown concerned that she might need more clothes before winter.

  “Don’t worry, Mommy. God will give us clothes just like he gave us an orange and Aunt Marigold.”

  There was a peace in my mind about her words. She may be right. Somehow I can believe that God will not disappoint her.

  After Mr. Abraham’s family had all gone away again, Josiah took to going there when he got off work and within a week told us that he would be moving next door, as long as Marigold was willing to agree on the neighbor’s conditions. If Marigold would provide meals, except breakfasts, and see to washing for them both, with my help, then Mr. Abraham would see that Josiah’s rent money still went to her. And either of them were allowed to check on Marigold or her house and help with things when they saw the need. I thought it a rather odd arrangement, but Marigold was perfectly happy with it. She seemed to like Josiah spending so much time with Mr. Abraham, though I would have thought she might like more of that herself.

  We still rarely saw Mr. Abraham. Marigold said that he was going to need some time and that was perfectly all right. Sometimes I took food next door, and sometimes Josiah came and got it. And he always came on
Tuesday and Friday mornings to pick up Marigold’s biscuits for the Kurchers.

  The house seemed a little strange without the sound of large feet on the hardwood stairs and hallway floor. But at least I didn’t have to worry about chance encounters with Josiah’s sullen eyes and unpredictable tongue.

  Eliza missed him, but thoughts of that were soon swallowed up in her excitement over her new friends at school, especially Betty Humphrey. They became so attached that they were soon arm in arm on the way home from school nearly every day. The whole Humphrey family was very nice. Sometimes I let Eliza play at their house after school or on Saturday.

  We continued to attend Marigold’s church, though I tried very hard not to make another spectacle. I spoke as little as I could get by with to anyone there, and mostly they gave me plenty of space. Marigold liked to discuss the service with me afterward, and I would listen and try to comment when I should, but I always wished she would let it all alone. Deep inside, I knew I needed to think things through more thoroughly, but I still did not want to fill my mind with it all. God’s Word still made me uncomfortable, because it always seemed that he was expecting something from me that I might never be able to give.

  Nonetheless, Marigold had me be her eyes to read the Bible to her every morning, now that Josiah was scarcely available. And though she usually did it herself, sometimes she asked me to pray at meals too. I didn’t refuse. I didn’t think that I could, but it gave me an uneasy feeling, as though she’d suddenly caught me at something and I had to try to set things right.

  Plenty of time had passed for my mail to have reached its destinations. I wondered about my father off and on, if he were already feeling better and how he might have reacted to my brief letter. There must have been something unusual going on for him to have made any effort to contact me. I wished I knew what it was, yet at the same time almost hoped that he would not feel the need to write back. I was still desperately looking for any work I could find to bring in a little money. And helping Marigold with the cooking and chores in her big old house still kept me busy for hours every day. I had enough to handle here without him heaping agonizing words on top of it all.