by Nick Poff
“Oh,” Ed said, comprehending, then added his chuckle to theirs.
“She’s been working here, with an English teacher in the house, for almost forty years, and her grammar is still as dreadful as it was the first day, God bless her,” Mrs. Penfield said, reaching for the teapot.
Mrs. Penfield then instructed her two novices on the proper rituals and decorum for afternoon tea. Ed felt a bit foolish and faggier than usual, but enjoyed the strong tea and the dainty cakes prepared by Effie Maude.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Penfield,” Rick said, nibbling on a sandwich. “I’d love to see more of it, if it’s possible.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Penfield said. “I’m not sure I’m up to the tour today, but Ed knows it well enough to take you through it. Ed? After tea?”
He nodded. “I’ve repaired something in practically every room in this place,” he bragged to Rick.
“That he has.” Mrs. Penfield shook her head. “Oh, it takes a lot of work to keep a place such as this together, but Ed and I have done hearty battle with it over the years. I don’t know what I’d do without him, Rick. He’s been a godsend.”
Ed blushed. “It’s the least I can do for the only English teacher I ever had who gave me straight A’s.”
“You earned them, both you and your sister. I often wished the two of you would have gone on to a good, four-year college, but you’ve both done well with your gifts. Laurie’s a blessing at the office, and you’ve found your niche as well, Ed.”
“Office?” Rick asked.
“Laurie works for the law firm of Mason and Schultz, which was formerly Penfield, Penfield, and Mason,” Mrs. Penfield told him. “My father-in-law started the firm, then partnered with my husband. Mr. Mason came along sometime later. When George died, he partnered with Mr. Schultz.”
“Lawyers,” Rick said, and nodded. “That explains this place.”
Mrs. Penfield smiled. “Oh, yes, my father-in-law had rather grand notions. He had this house built in 1898, when Spruce Street had more vacant lots than houses. He felt the need of a house befitting the town’s most important lawyer, which he felt he was, of course. He also had a carriage house built on the alley, which has since been converted into a garage. He felt this location, on what was then the south edge of Porterfield, was a good, brisk walk away from his office on East Commerce Street. I think he would be surprised to see how Porterfield has grown up around this house, and to the south and west.”
“When did you move here, Mrs. Penfield?” Rick asked.
“I came to this house as a bride in 1931, during the height of the Depression. Much of the house was closed off, and my father-in-law, who’d lost a good deal of money in the stock market crash, would have sold it, but his pride and a lack of buyers kept him from it. It was a good thing I was already teaching, as that income kept us going through those lean years. We also took in boarders, other teachers from the town’s schools. The law practice was struggling, mostly from a lack of paying clients. George refused to turn anyone in need away, and took whatever was offered in payment. Sometimes a chicken or a basket of fresh vegetables meant more than cash itself.”
“Wow,” Rick murmured. “My dad’s a history teacher, so I’ve never had a lack of it in my life, but it means more when you’re right on the spot, so to speak. Did you have any children, though, Mrs. Penfield? I can’t imagine this big house without children.”
“Yes, we had a son, George Junior. He was killed in Korea.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rick said in embarrassment.
“There’s no need,” she said gently. “Although I miss both my Georges to this day, I was blessed to have many other children during my teaching years.” She glanced at Ed. “I tried not to, but Ed can tell you I occasionally played favorites. I can honestly admit to that now, and to the fact that the Stephenses were among them—Ed, Laurie, and their father.”
“Aw,” Ed muttered, blushing once again.
“I was just telling Ed today how much I wish I could have met his father,” Rick said, grinning at Ed. “What was he like in class?”
“Tim Stephens? Oh, much like his children, bright and inquisitive. Rather shy, as Ed was in his sophomore year. Tim did, however, associate with quite a bunch of rascals, and I had to pull him into line more than once. I had the same struggle with Laurie occasionally, but Ed, of course, was never any problem.”
Ed rolled his eyes. “You just didn’t know what Ted Gillis, Greg Donovan, Steve Kiley, and I were up to outside of class.”
“No, I didn’t, and I’m glad of that,” she said, giving him a reproving look. “It might forever tarnish the image I have of you as a perfect young gentleman.”
They all laughed. Rick looked through the dining room entrance into the parlors and the hall. “Is there really an upstairs room made over into a library?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes. George had a study on the first floor, on the other side of the stairs. What law and reference books he didn’t have in his office downtown, he kept here. We began to amass such a collection of books—books of all kinds—that I suggested we convert one of the unused bedrooms into a library. It’s rather empty now, thanks to Ed’s recent help.”
Rick sighed. “I’ve always wanted a room just for books. I’ve moved around so much in the past few years that most of mine are in boxes.”
“Ed told me your reasons for being in Porterfield. Do you think you’ll be staying when your sister is back on her feet?”
Rick looked at Ed. “Definitely,” he said, smiling.
Mrs. Penfield beamed at them both. “That’s good news. I’m sure Ed has told you of my concerns for the two of you, but I have great faith that you’ll both overcome any difficulties you may encounter. Now, Ed, Why don’t you take Rick on a tour of the house? I fear his curiosity is interfering with his appetite.”
She watched them both rise to their feet, Rick a good deal slower than Ed. “Ah, Rick,” she sighed. “I can only hope your injuries are temporary. I wouldn’t bless this affliction of mine on my worst enemy.”
“Even Eunice Ames?” Ed teased.
“Don’t tempt me,” Mrs. Penfield retorted with a laugh.
Ed took Rick through the downstairs rooms—front and back parlors, sitting room, study, dining room, and kitchen. They trooped upstairs and peered into the master bedroom suite across the front of the house and into the smaller bedrooms, ending with the library, which looked forlorn and empty, denuded of books.
“This place is really something else,” Rick whispered to Ed, looking out a window into the small but attractive backyard. “But I’ll bet the upkeep is incredible as well.”
Ed lowered his voice, too. “Yes, it is. It needs a lot of work, projects bigger than I could ever handle on my own. I’ve managed to keep it up just enough to keep her comfortable. I worry, though, about her arthritis. I wonder how long she’ll be able to stay here, with just Effie Maude for help. You know, she doesn’t have any family left, not that I know of anyway. I’d hate for her to have to sell this place and go to a nursing home.”
“That would be a shame,” Rick agreed, turning back to Ed. He suddenly smiled and leaned over for a quick kiss. “Oh, well, baby. It may be a little more than we need, a house like this, but it sure is fun to dream, isn’t it?”
They returned to Mrs. Penfield and the rest of the tea. She inquired as to Rick’s background and education and seemed pleased to hear of his two years at Indiana University as an English major.
“I know my parents wish I would finish my degree. Maybe I will someday.”
“When you feel the need for the enrichment, you will,” Mrs. Penfield promised. “I would be the first to admit that a liberal arts degree is not worth much in today’s work world, but for one’s own personal growth, it’s invaluable. I’m so glad you’re encouraging Ed to read again. Perhaps we’ll steer him toward some ivy-covered buildings one day.”
Mrs. Penfield and Rick laughed as Ed smirked at them. “I wouldn’t count on it
. I’m perfectly happy being a simple handyman.”
“Handyman, yes, Ed,” Mrs. Penfield said, still chuckling. “But simple? Never. It takes an intelligent man to tackle some of the problems I hand you on occasion. More tea, gentlemen?” She encouraged them to eat their fill and insisted on Effie Maude wrapping the leftovers for them. “It’ll just go to waste here,” she said, waving a hand at their objections.
When it was time to go, she walked them to the door, leaning heavily on her cane. “I’ve always enjoyed the starkness of our Indiana winters,” she said, “but I must admit my joints are longing for sunny Florida. Now, don’t be strangers, you two. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our visit. Please come again, Rick. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, and might I add, I’m very pleased you’re in Ed’s life.”
“Oh, no one’s happier about that than me,” he assured her, smiling. “It’s been a pleasure for me as well, Mrs. Penfield. I look forward to seeing you again.”
The drive back to Ed’s in the early twilight was silent. Rick sighed as the truck pulled into Ed’s driveway.
“What an amazing woman,” he said softly. “We didn’t even scratch the surface of the stories she can tell. I’d really like to go back sometime, baby. Her honest . . . joy in our relationship just blows me away.”
“Mr. Penfield was the same way,” Ed said. “Just nice and honest. With his position they could have been snobs, like Todd’s mother, but they never acted like that. They both did a lot of good for this town.” Ed shook his head. “I wonder if they make ’em like that anymore.”
“Yes, they do,” Rick said, looking at Ed. “I know, because I’m sitting next to one of them. You do a lot of good for this town, too, in your own way. That’s why I sometimes wonder, if everyone did know the truth about you, or about us, if they’d really care all that much. You know, some of your clients are on my mail route. I can tell you honestly, baby, that they think the world of you.”
“Don’t make me blush again,” Ed protested. “Anyway, that may be so, but I don’t think we should push it. I can just see what someone like Eunice Ames or some of those snotty bitches she hangs out with would say about us.”
“I don’t know, baby,” Rick said, straining somewhat to open his door. “Maybe our future is in Porterfield, maybe it isn’t. I don’t really care right now, as long as we’re together.”
Ed watched Rick’s face tighten. “Oh, let me do that.” He hopped out and ran to the other side of the truck. He helped Rick to the pavement, put his arm around him, and walked him to the house.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will see you being so affectionate with me?” Rick teased.
“Fuck ’em. I love taking care of you, and if they can’t handle that, tough shit.”
“And I love being taken care of by you,” Rick said softly as they reached the back door.
* * * * *
In the fading hours of that Saturday, Rick sat on the floor, his back propped against the sofa. Ed was stretched out on the floor, his head in Rick’s lap.
“You know, baby,” Rick said, stroking Ed’s hair. “What this room needs is a Christmas tree.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about it all week. I was just waiting for your back to feel better. Some night this next week, let’s go out to the tree lot and buy one. I mean, you’re going to help me decorate it, aren’t you?”
“Of course! After the grief I gave you the other day, do you think I’d let you do it alone?”
Ed smiled. “Our first Christmas tree.”
“Only the first,” Rick said. He glanced at the stereo, where “Come Saturday Morning” was playing again. “So, baby, was this a Saturday you’ll always remember? We really painted the town.”
“Yes,” Ed said definitely. “I will always remember this Saturday, because it was the first one we spent together from start to finish. What we did wasn’t important. All I wanted was to spend it with you, Saturday friend.”
Rick sighed. “Companionship. Not just a lover, but a friend. Do you have any idea how long I have hoped for that?”
“As long as I have, probably.”
“This won’t be our last Saturday like this. Oh, with my job, Saturday’s are kinda shaky, but eventually I’ll have been at the post office long enough to earn some vacation time. We’ll go away together, over a weekend. We’ll go someplace neither one of us has ever been, and we’ll play, and run, and be just as free, if only for a Saturday, like the couple in that movie.”
“Mmm,” Ed murmured drowsily. “Yes.”
“Then, some day, we’ll take an even bigger vacation. Any place you’ve always dreamed of seeing, baby?”
“Lots of them.”
“Good. Then we have lots to choose from.” Rick, his eyes closed, allowed his imagination to go even farther. “And someday, we’ll have a big, old house, maybe not as grand as Mrs. Penfield’s, but a place all our own, where you can have a basement workshop, and you can make cabinets as good—no, better—than your dad made.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They’ll be so good, in fact, that I’ll quit my job and sell them for outrageous prices. Everyone will be clamoring for an Ed Stephens original. We’ll get rich, and we’ll be able to go anywhere we want to.”
“The moon?” Ed teased.
“Why not? If NASA gets that space shuttle program started, who knows? Maybe people will take vacations on the moon in the twenty-first century.”
“I’d settle for California. I’ve wanted to go there since the first time I heard ‘California Dreamin’.’”
“What do you want to see in California, baby?”
“The redwoods. I don’t care about LA, or San Francisco. I want to go someplace green, where the trees are bigger than I can even imagine.”
“Just don’t get any ideas about cutting them down for those cabinets you’re gonna make.”
“You said I was gonna make.”
Rick chuckled. “Okay. Whatever we end up doing, as long as we’re together and enjoying it, I don’t care. Now. How about sitting up so I can kiss you? My back won’t let bend over that far.”
Ed pulled himself up. He put his arms around Rick and kissed him.
“Dreams,” Ed said, sighing. “I’ve been dreaming my whole life, but I think you’re the first one that really came true.”
“Well, as Blondie sang, ‘dreaming is free.’ Maybe some Saturday we’ll look back and remember what we talked about, amazed that more of them came true. Maybe that’s what Saturdays like this are for—dreaming dreams for another Saturday to come.” Rick pulled Ed closer. “I love you, baby. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather do some dreamin’ with.”
Ed kissed him again. “Me too, darlin’, me too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ed drove slowly over the slippery streets of Porterfield, heading home for lunch. A light snowfall had left the streets just slick enough to require careful driving. The trees and houses Ed passed were frosted with white, and he had to admit to himself that if it didn’t feel like Christmas, at least it looked like Christmas.
Karen Carpenter came on the radio, singing “Merry Christmas, Darling.” Ed reached over and snapped the radio off, growling, “Oh, shut up already.” Ed had always loved the song until this Christmas when, unfortunately, the lyrics hit a little too close to home. Like the lovers in Karen’s song, Ed and Rick would be apart for Christmas.
They had talked about it, and simply saw no way around it. They both had family obligations to meet, plans that had already been in motion before their relationship had progressed to a point where Christmas apart seemed unthinkable. Ed, as usual, would spend Christmas Eve driving his mother to nearby Crestland to spend the evening with his aunt and uncle and their family, and Christmas Day would be spent with his mother, Laurie, and her family. Rick’s plans were even more involved, including a road trip to Indianapolis with his sister and her children to spend the holiday with his parents. Ed was trying his best to be adult and dignified abo
ut the situation, but deep inside he felt cheated. He suspected that Rick felt the same way.
Ed pulled into his driveway and sighed. He wouldn’t even have his usual after-lunch meeting with Rick at the front door. When Rick returned to work after his back problems, not entirely healed, he’d been pulled off his mail route and stuck in the back room of the post office, sorting Christmas cards instead of delivering them. The only immediate bright spot in Ed’s future was their plan to get together that night. They were going to buy a Christmas tree from the lot by the IGA, bring it back to Ed’s, and then trim it together.
Ed ate a hasty lunch, then trudged up his stairs to see if he still had a box of tree trimmings stashed away. Digging through his storage closet he almost tripped over a box he’d put there recently. He smiled. The box held Rick’s Christmas present, a denim jacket Ed had seen in the window of Gibson’s Men’s Clothing in downtown Porterfield. He thought the coat looked as though it was made for Rick, and Ed, who usually had no confidence in his abilities to pick out Christmas gifts, was sure Rick would like it. He just wished he could give it to Rick on Christmas morning instead of the day after, when they had agreed to exchange their gifts.
The phone rang. Hoping it was Rick calling on his lunch break, he ran downstairs to answer it.
“Well, if it isn’t my son the traitor,” Norma barked into the phone.
“Oh, Mom,” he groaned. “If this about Christmas at Laurie’s, I—”
“It most certainly is,” she interrupted him. “We’ve always had Christmas dinner right here in the house where the two of you grew up. Christmas is about tradition, you know. Honestly. Why your sister suddenly thinks we should change things and have dinner at her house. Your father would have a fit.”
“Mom, you know that’s not true,” Ed said patiently. “Dad wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, he’d see Laurie’s side, which is exactly why I’m siding with her. She has a good point. Lesley and Bobby would be a lot happier, and a lot less trouble, if they can spend the day playing with the stuff Santa Claus brings them. That isn’t going to take away from anything you, or I, give them. You know how kids are. Don’t you remember how Laurie and I acted? Kids are greedy at Christmas. They forget to say thank you, and by the end of the day they’re cranky and tired. Wouldn’t it be a whole lot easier for Laurie to deal with that on her home turf instead of at your house?”
