Room for Hope

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  They tiptoed to the table and sat, their wary gazes following the housekeeper’s movements.

  As she broke eggs into the sizzling skillet, she started humming again.

  Arthur held his coffee cup beneath his chin and braved a comment. “You’re in a good mood this morning, Mrs. Lafferty.”

  She stilled for a moment, then flicked a glance over her shoulder. “Some reason I shouldn’t be?”

  “You scolded us.” Leon blasted the comment.

  Leroy socked him on the arm, and he yelped.

  Mrs. Lafferty shook her finger at the pair. “No horsin’ around at the table.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they chorused, then turned their disbelieving faces toward Arthur.

  He cleared his throat. “No. I can’t think of any. It’s just that you seem…especially cheerful.”

  She flipped the eggs with a spatula. A sizzle rose, and when it calmed, she spoke. “It’s Monday.”

  Arthur frowned. “Yes?”

  She transferred the eggs to a plate. “Monday comes after Saturday an’ Sunday.”

  He still didn’t understand.

  She smacked plates of bacon, eggs, and biscuits on the table and released a little snort. “Mr. Randall, I don’t see my girl on the weekend. It’s Monday!”

  Adeline. His desire for breakfast fled, chased away by the sweet memory of his time alone with Adeline and Cassie a week ago. Having grown up with one brother and raising two sons, he’d never been around little girls. At first he’d been stiff, uncertain. As had they. But then Adeline tugged at his pant leg and asked his name.

  Remembering their title for Neva, he said, “Uncle Arthur.” The little girl looked up at him with wide, innocent blue eyes and said, “Klunka Auffer, I firsty.” She’d melted his heart with four words, three of which were badly pronounced.

  The child had wormed her way into his affections, and she’d transformed Mrs. Lafferty. If he convinced Neva to send the children away, the older woman would be crushed. She was only his housekeeper, not a relative or even a friend. But he didn’t want to see her revert to the silent, shuffling, never-smiling person she’d been before Adeline came along.

  Arthur rose so quickly he bumped the table. The milk in the boys’ glasses sloshed over the rims. He grimaced. “My apologies.”

  Mrs. Lafferty bustled over with a damp rag. “Accidents happen to everyone, Mr. Randall. I’m sure you’ll be more careful next time.” She probably used the same singsong, cheery voice when Adeline spilled her drink.

  Arthur swallowed the bitter taste flooding his mouth. “No breakfast for me today. I have an errand to run.”

  His housekeeper squinted one eye at him. “I cooked up a pound of bacon, baked a dozen biscuits, and fried nine eggs. That’s too much food to waste. Besides that, no man ought to start a day of work without a good breakfast. Sit back down, Mr. Randall.”

  Too startled to do otherwise, Arthur sat. His boys snickered. Mrs. Lafferty returned to the stove and gathered the dirty pots and pans. Although he had no appetite left at all, he’d eat. And then he’d run his errand.

  He closed his eyes. It would hurt, but in time they’d all forget that two little blue-eyed girls and a sturdy little boy had been part of their lives.

  Bud

  After a full week away, Bud felt like a stranger when he stepped onto the school’s play yard. Some kids stood in little groups, talking. Others darted around in wild games. It all looked the same as it had before, but something seemed different. Bud wasn’t sure what to do.

  “See you in class, Bud.” Belle trotted over to a group of girls her age.

  Cassie waved at the boys. “Bye, Charley. Bye, Bud.” She ran to join a game of jump rope.

  Bud glanced at Charley, who stood beside him with both sets of their schoolbooks stacked in his arms. “Lemme have those books now. You can go play some before the bell rings.”

  Charley shrugged. “Nah. I’ll stay with you.”

  Bud grinned. Who would’ve thought he’d come to enjoy having a shadow? “Okay.” They ambled across the yard in the direction of the school. The walk had brought out the ache in Bud’s hip again, but he tried not to limp so nobody would call him a gimp. Kids were always eager to tease.

  Martin pounded toward them. He held a battered football under his arm, and three of the boys from Bud’s class chased after him. Bud kept going, expecting Martin to change course, but Martin didn’t.

  With a gasp Bud jerked backward, throwing out his arm to protect Charley. His elbow slammed into Charley’s shoulder, and the stack of books went flying. Martin and the other boys trampled them as they ran by.

  Heat exploded through Bud’s middle. “Hey! Be careful, would ya?”

  The throng skidded to a stop and whirled around. Seth pointed to his chest. “You talking to us?”

  Bud balled his hands into fists. “Yeah. Look what you did.” Charley had bent down and was gathering the books. A few pages stuck out at odd angles. Bud snatched up one of the books and held it toward the boys. “You’re gonna have to pay for this if Miss Neff says it’s ruined.”

  They sauntered over, Joey leading the pack. He took the book from Bud and pretended to study it. Then he shrugged and jammed it back at him. “Seems fine to me.”

  Bud huffed. “It’s not fine, Joey. Some of the pages are torn.”

  Joey bent close, squinting and looking at the book again. Then he straightened. “Sorry. I don’t see anything. Just like I didn’t see you a minute ago. Or him.” He jerked his head at Charley. The others sniggered.

  Charley started to stand. With his arms full he had trouble getting his balance.

  Seth took a step toward him. “Here. Lemme help you, kid.” He brought his hand down on the stack, knocking the books to the ground again.

  “Seth!” Bud punched the boy on the arm.

  Seth spun on him, rubbing his arm. “What was that for? I was only trying to help.”

  Bud gawked at Seth. “Help? How’d that help?”

  “The books were too heavy for him. He couldn’t get up.” Seth smirked. “He can get up now.”

  Joey, George, and Martin laughed.

  Charley sat on his haunches with books all around him. He stared up at Bud, his eyes begging. Bud held out his hand to him. Before Charley took hold, George Garber leaped between them.

  “Here, lemme get him up.” He grabbed Charley’s arm and jerked with such force Charley’s feet left the ground. George let go, and Charley fell flat on the ground. The boys laughed so hard they doubled over, some of them slapping their knees.

  “What’s going on over here?” The sheriff’s stern voice ended the laughter.

  George backed up, holding his hands in the air. “We wasn’t doing anything. Just playing.”

  “Is that right?” Sheriff Caudel helped Charley stand and brushed the dried grass from his knees. He frowned at George and the others. “It didn’t look to me like Charley was enjoying the game.”

  “It wasn’t a game.” Bud pointed at his friends. Although right then he didn’t want to claim them as friends. “Martin ran into us on purpose, knocked our books all over the place, even tore some of the pages. Then George knocked Charley down.”

  George’s mouth dropped open. “How can you say that? I helped him up. He just tripped.” He snickered. “He’s kind of a clumsy kid.” The others smirked and ducked their heads.

  Sheriff Caudel put his hand on Charley’s shoulder and sent a frown across the circle of boys. “Charley’s a lot smaller than all of you. From now on, you leave him out of your…games. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” they mumbled.

  The bell rang and the group shot off. Bud wished his hip worked right so he could chase them down, trip them, make them go facedown in the dirt the way they’d done to Charley.

  Sheriff Caudel gathered up the books. He handed the early primers to Charley, but he held on to Bud’s more advanced books. He walked with them to the porch, then handed Bud’s books to him. “There you go.�
�

  Bud hugged the stack against his churning stomach. “Thanks.”

  The sheriff opened the door. “You boys have a good day now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Charley scuffed up the hallway toward his classroom.

  Bud remained rooted on the porch. He angled a glare at the sheriff. “Those boys weren’t playing. They were out-and-out mean to Charley. They meant to hurt him.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, then, why didn’t you do something?”

  Sheriff Caudel folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly. “I did. I told them to leave Charley alone.”

  Bud pinched his lips into a snide grimace. “That’s nothin’.”

  “What would you have me do, Bud?”

  He couldn’t think of anything, which only made him madder.

  The man leaned down slightly, putting him eye to eye with Bud. “I can’t stay here all day and make sure bullies don’t bother Charley. But you’re here. You’re his big brother. Will you look out for him?”

  Bud stared into the sheriff’s eyes for long seconds. The tardy bell blared. Bud jerked. “I gotta go. I’m late.” Bud climbed the stairs to the second-level classrooms, slowed by his aching hip and the heavy books in his hands.

  Sheriff Caudel called after him. “Charley was there for you when you needed him. I hope you’ll be there for Charley when he needs you.”

  Bud didn’t answer. He entered the classroom in the middle of roll call. Kids muttered to each other and pointed at him.

  Miss Neff glanced up with a frown, but then she spotted Bud. She smiled and came around her desk, her hand extended. “Bud, it’s so good to have you back with us. Have you recovered from your dreadful experience?”

  Even though his hip still bothered him a little bit, Bud nodded. “Yes, ma’am. And I finished most of the assignments that Belle brought home for me.”

  “Teacher’s pet,” someone whispered, and several people snickered.

  Miss Neff shot a stern look at the class. “Children.” The single word silenced them. She gave Bud’s shoulder a pat. “You take your seat now. At recess time we’ll review your assignments and get you caught up on anything you’re lacking.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Miss Neff hurried back to her desk and returned to the roll call. “Fannie Latham.”

  “Here.”

  Bud eased his way between the rows to the double desk he shared with Belle. He sat and put his books away. Someone poked him on the back. He looked behind him. Martin Buckwelder was leaning into the aisle, bobbing a folded square of paper in his hand.

  “Bud Shilling.”

  Bud yanked his gaze forward. “What?”

  Titters erupted.

  Miss Neff frowned.

  Belle nudged him and whispered, “Say ‘here.’ ”

  Heat flooded Bud’s face. “Here.”

  More titters.

  Miss Neff snatched up her wide ruler and brought it down hard on the desk. The class went silent. The teacher used the ruler as a pointer and bounced it at the students. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense this morning.” She dropped the length of wood into her desk drawer and closed it with a sharp snap. “I know we’re all excited to have Bud with us again, but this is not a holiday. Every one of you needs to turn his or her attention to learning.” She paused, searing each of them with her smoldering glare. “Now, let’s rise for the Pledge of Allegiance. Wilber, will you kindly lead us?”

  Wilber darted to the front of the room, and the students stood and lifted their right hands in a salute. Wilber began in a flat voice, “I pledge allegiance…”

  When they finished, Miss Neff instructed them to take their seats and bring out their arithmetic books. Bud sat, and something poked him on the backside. He reached beneath him and found the paper Martin had tried to hand him.

  Holding it flat against his lap so Miss Neff wouldn’t see, Bud unfolded it. A drawing of two stick men filled the center of the page, with “His Buddy” written above the taller one and a word Ma never allowed him to say scrawled above the other.

  Bud crumpled the paper into a wad and jerked around to glare at Martin. Martin grinned and waggled his fingers at him. Joey and George covered their mouths, but Bud could tell they were laughing even without any sound coming out.

  Bud faced forward again. His ears rang, and his face was so hot he wondered if people saw smoke rising from his hair. Why were his friends treating him this way? He hadn’t done anything to them. And neither had Charley.

  Sheriff Caudel’s words sneaked through Bud’s mind. “You’re his big brother. Will you look out for him?” Bud fingered the wadded-up paper. If he stood up for Charley, would the boys call him that ugly name, too?

  Neva

  Neva gave the front-door window shade a light tug and let it roll up. She gasped. A large man-shaped shadow lurked just outside the door.

  He tapped his knuckles on the glass. “Mrs. Shilling, may I come in?”

  Her knees went weak as relief flooded her. She unlocked the door and yanked it open. “Gracious, Mr. Caudel, you gave me a start. With the sun behind you, you were unrecognizable. I’m glad I’m not a cat. Otherwise I would have lost one of my nine lives.”

  He removed his hat as he stepped inside. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She managed a smile even though her pulse still raced. “Please don’t apologize. I’ve been especially jumpy since our break-in.” She pressed one palm to her heart and took a deep breath. She headed behind the counter to unlock the cash register. “Do you have information about…”

  He followed her and popped open the jellybean jar. He fished out a half-dozen black beans and tossed the first one into his mouth. “Not yet. It might be a few days until Sheriff Abling gathers the appropriate information and responds.”

  She might go mad before she knew whether or not this mercantile was really hers. But what else could she do but go on as if nothing were wrong? She didn’t want to worry the children.

  “In the meantime I stopped by to see if there was anything I could do for you.”

  Could he bring Warren back to life? Insist he make restitution for the wrongs he’d perpetrated? She gave the key a sharp twist, and the drawer popped open with a tinny ding. “Such as?”

  “Do you need me to drive to Beloit and pick up goods from the depot? With Thanksgiving coming I thought you might need to place a special order.”

  Last year she’d put a basket of sweet potatoes on the window ledge, bowls of unshelled pecans, walnuts, and hazelnuts next to the canned fruit, and a pyramid of orange pumpkins beside the door. By Thanksgiving Day not one potato, nut, or pumpkin remained. But thanks to the thief helping himself to her cashbox and now the lack of sales, she didn’t have the funds to purchase treats for her customers.

  Neva pushed the drawer shut and sighed. “In years past I have offered specialty items at the holidays. But…”

  The sheriff put another jellybean in his mouth and bounced the last one in his cupped palm. “But not this year?”

  “That’s right. Not this year.”

  For long seconds he gazed at her with his eyes slightly narrowed, and she waited for him to question her reasons. When he spoke, he surprised her again. “Mrs. Shilling, I think it might be time for you to make a visit to school to talk to Charley’s teacher.”

  “Why is that?”

  “This morning at the school’s play yard I broke up a skirmish between several older boys and Charley.”

  Neva drew back. “Charley was skirmishing?”

  “No. He was a victim of the skirmish.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  Mr. Caudel offered a weak shrug. “Not physically, I don’t think. As for his feelings, they were pretty well battered.” He pinched the jellybean between his fingers and rolled it back and forth, his brow furrowed. “I’d told him to talk to you about the way several of the pupils were treating him a while back.”

  “Yes. He mentioned it
.” She hung her head. She hadn’t paid nearly enough attention.

  “At that time Bud seemed to instigate a lot of the mistreatment.” The tips of his fingers were turning black. He stuck the candy in his mouth and wiped his hand on his trouser leg. “But today Bud wasn’t participating. He was downright indignant.”

  Neva rounded the counter and gaped at the sheriff. “Bud defended Charley?”

  “He demanded I do something. But I think it’ll take more than me telling those boys to leave Charley be. They’ve got it out for him. I think the teachers will have to get involved, or Charley may spend the entire year being the butt of jokes and the target of—”

  The mercantile door opened, and Arthur strode in, bringing the heady scent of bay rum with him. The aroma was even sweeter when contrasted with the strong licorice on the sheriff’s breath. “Neva, I—” He came to a stop, his startled gaze landing on the sheriff. “Oh. Excuse me. I didn’t realize you had a customer.”

  “The sheriff came in to talk to me about Charley.”

  “Is that so?” Arthur tucked his thumbs into his vest pockets.

  “I’ve pretty much said all I intended to. Mrs. Shilling, you do what you think is best.” Mr. Caudel dug in his trouser pocket and retrieved two pennies. He laid the coins on the counter. “Thanks for the jellybeans. I’ll be in touch about—” He glanced at Arthur. “I’ll be in touch.” He ambled out, bobbing his head in farewell to Arthur as he went.

  Arthur crossed to Neva in three wide strides. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”

  She took her work apron from its peg, slipped it over her head, and tied the strings. “The sheriff said some boys were rough on Charley this morning in the play yard. He suggested I talk to Miss Franklin and ask her to intervene.”

  Arthur shook his head, pursing his lips into a scowl. “I was afraid something like this would happen since you made those children’s origin so public.”

  Was he blaming her for the boys’ behavior? “Charley got off to a rough start at school from the very beginning. Sometimes that happens. Children choose a…a…” She searched for the word Sheriff Caudel had used. “Target. Like chickens creating their pecking order. Charley’s been pecked at for weeks already.”