“News?”
“Yes,” Madge whispers. “You said you had a scoop.” She reaches into her satchel, probably for some sort of weapon. I place the corset across my chest like a piece of armor.
A really sad piece of armor.
“So spill,” Madge says as she pulls out a notepad and pencil.
I relax a bit. I’m 85.6 percent sure my corset can fend off her pencil. Also, I’m not too worried about Nincompoop—he’s digging a finger in his ear, an activity that seems to require all of his attention.
Madge keeps staring at me. “Well? I don’t have all day.”
Well, what? What does she want from me?
Madge’s shoulders drop and her eyes narrow. She takes a step closer. “You said you had a scoop. Now, what is this scoop you mentioned?” Her hand hovers over the paper as she waits for me to answer. “I want this scoop, Stan. It’s important for me to know everything that goes on in this town.” She pokes her pencil in my face like she’s dotting an exclamation mark.
I sift through the past few minutes. Why does she think I have a scoop? Scoop. Scoop. Oh! Nincompoop! Mad Madge thinks I have news! Of course! I try to wave away that silly idea, but that’s difficult to manage while holding a package and a corset.
Mad Madge’s eyes turn to slits. “Oh, not going to share your news source, eh?”
I swallow hard. “No! No, I mean, I don’t have any news!”
Mad Madge sighs and then, like the wick turned up on a lamp, brightens as she looks at me like I’m a gift to her from the Bully God.
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“We have ways of making you talk,” she says, taking a step toward me. “What’s this on your arm?” Mad Madge knows perfectly well what this is on my arm.
“Um, it’s a delivery, if you must know.” I take a step backward, ready to make my getaway before Madge decides to throw me to the ground, wrap me up in the corset, and then tie me to a tree.
“What a great suggestion!” she says gleefully. “Nicholas! Grab him!” She moves aside but her timing is slightly off, and rather than getting out of Nincompoop’s way, she backs into him. Nincompoop loses his footing, his finger still stuck in his ear, panicking like ants are caught in his brain and can’t get out.
Which would be the most that brain has ever held, if you want to know the truth.
I’m a whiz at the truth, I don’t mind saying. Unless I’m not telling it. Then I’m a whiz at little white lies. Which never hurt anybody.
Mad Madge looks serious for a moment and then says forcefully, “It’s never okay to tell lies, Bedpan.”
I’m getting moral advice from a gangster. That’s how low I’ve sunk.
Nincompoop tries to regain his balance and steps onto Mad Madge’s foot. She wobbles and grabs his arm, and they both fall into the trash piled up behind Murray Brothers’ Grocery Store.
If I know anything, it’s a good time to make an exit. I turn tail and head for Cuddy’s house.
When I woke up this morning I never, ever in a million years would have thought this day would end up with me running down the street wearing a corset, Mad Madge’s hollers following me like dandelion fluff carried away by the wind.
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I curve my path up the steps of the Carlisles’ white house. Cuddy left the door wide open, something I’m certain to be blamed for.
Sure enough, I slow my breathing and look up into the face of Cuddy’s grandmother, Mrs. Law, her gray hair pulled back so severely her eyebrows look surprised. Her arms are crossed.
In my experience this is not a good sign.
“What is not a good sign, Stanley?” Mrs. Law asks. Her lips are thin and straight and barely move.
I thrust the package toward her. “I said, ‘Isn’t today fine?’ Yep. That’s what I said, Mrs. Law. Ma’am. And how are you today?” I smile with all my teeth.
“I’ll take this,” she says, reaching for the corset. My arm aches from holding it up for so long.
“Why on earth did you carry it around on your arm?” she scoffs while pulling it off me. “Another desperate cry for attention? Hmmm?”
I don’t say anything. I have been taught to respect my elders. Especially when they’re really old.
Mrs. Law’s expression tells me I’ve maybe said this last thing out loud. I swear I will never learn.
“So,” I say, covering up, “what do you think? What are your opinions on the common cold?”
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“Mrs. Carlisle would like to see you, Stanley. She’s in the parlor.” Mrs. Law then turns toward the kitchen and slams the door behind her.
I scrape my shoes on the mat and walk down the long hallway. The wood on the walls of the entryway is so shiny I can almost see myself in it, and the rug has strange patterns and colors—if I stare at it, I feel like the hero in One Thousand and One Nights, ready to fly off on his magic carpet.
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Except his carpet flies off on exotic adventures, and mine just leads to a stuffy old parlor.
“Stan? Where are you, child?” I enter the room to find Mrs. Carlisle reclined on her sofa and dressed in so much fluffy white she could pass for one of those clouds you see only on hot summer days.
I can’t imagine my own mama in such an outfit. It would be torn and covered in ash or grease from tending the stove or cooking meals for boarders.
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“Stanley, have a seat,” Mrs. Carlisle says. She directs me toward a chair across from her. At least I think it’s a chair. It looks like something you could sit on if you had to.
I get a little closer, and Mrs. Carlisle grimaces. “Uh, on second thought, why not stand? That might be a bit more comfortable for you.” I look down at my hands twisting my coat. The knees of my knickers aren’t really dirty, just worn in spots, although I might remember Mama yelling this morning, “Come back here, young man! The seat of those trousers is so filthy I think you’re growing potatoes back there!” But I was late and couldn’t be bothered.
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“That’s fine, Mrs. Carlisle. I sure wouldn’t mind taking a load off these feet of mine.” I maneuver toward the sunshiny yellow chair, but that woman is quick. She whips out her crutch and sticks it in my chest so fast, if it were a revolver, I would be dead.
“No. I insist you stand, Stanley.” She smiles and slowly places the crutch at her side. “So I noticed that Cuddy seemed to have had quite the adventure today. He arrived home decidedly less put-together than when he left.” She stares at me.
“What was he missing, Mrs. Carlisle?” I’m confused. I am pretty sure when he got back home he had both arms and legs and his head attached. Now, there were those few minutes while I was fending off a gangster attack when I suppose something could have happened….
“Oh, no, no, Stanley. It’s just that he was a bit unkempt. And dirty. And his trousers were ripped. And he was ranting on and on about perhaps having contracted rabies?”
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I shrug. “Oh, that Cuddy,” I say with a smile. “He does have quite the imagination, now, doesn’t he?” My face feels stiff. I’m sure I’ll be fired from this job any minute and have to tell Mama that it’s time to pack up and leave for the poorhouse. I’ll need to quit school to work down at the docks or out at the lumberyard, or perhaps I’ll need to become a member of Mad Madge’s gang and start hitting people over the head and stealing their pocket change. Or perhaps the corset will be my weapon of choice.
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“Excuse me, Stanley.” Mrs. Carlisle leans toward me. “Did you hear what I just said?”
I look at her blankly. I guess I didn’t hear what she just said.
“Cuddy seems happier than I’ve seen him in months. Ever since, well, ever since the fall when we moved here. So I just want to thank you for taking care of him. Perhaps my broken leg was a blessing in disguise.”
Whew. I breathe deeply and shake out my arms. I had been holding them stiffly to my sides like I was some sort of tin sol
dier. Truth be told, these people make me as nervous as a couple of worms at a bird convention. I should have known Mrs. Carlisle would want to thank me; why, who knows what would happen to Cuddy if I weren’t here to show him the ropes? He’d probably end up some sort of sad mama’s boy spending all of his days listening to opera and darning socks.
Mrs. Carlisle smiles, and I look for a place to sit in case she wants to tell me more nice things.
“Uh, no need to sit,” Mrs. Carlisle says, her hand on the crutch. “I just wanted to give you tomorrow’s list and ask if perhaps you could see to it that Cuddy stays a bit cleaner from now on.”
I nod and take the list. I’m going to have to add some things from today’s list, too. I hope she doesn’t notice.
“I also want to give you this, Stanley.” Mrs. Carlisle holds out one shiny silver twenty-five-cent piece.
Is this a trick?
“Initially I needed you to watch Cuddy because of my unfortunate situation.” She flounces her fluffy white arm around her broken leg. “But you have done quite a nice job, and for that, I would like to hire you to watch Cuddy after school and run some errands. Mr. Carlisle and I feel you’ve earned it.”
I take the coin between my two fingers. My very own money, money I can use to help support Mama and me.
“We will pay you twenty-five cents a week,” she says. “As long as you do a good job.”
Pfft. I am a whiz at doing a good job, I don’t mind saying. Unless we’re talking about schoolwork. Or washing the dishes. Or maybe shoveling. But those jobs don’t count.
Mrs. Carlisle turns away dismissively. I bow as I leave the room, backing right into Mrs. Law. When I whip around, she has Cuddy’s trousers pressed into my face.
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“Young Mr. Slater,” she says. “The next time you deliver Master Carlisle to me in such atrocious condition, you will either take the time to clean his clothing yourself or buy the child a new suit.” She flings the pants to the side as if she’s a matador and I’m a bull.
But sure as the sun rises in the North, even the meanest bull in existence would drop dead from the combination of that woman’s hot breath and cold, cold eyes.
I’m a whiz at science, I don’t mind saying.
I turn and dash out the door, slap my cap on my head, check both ways to make sure Mad Madge and her crony cousin aren’t waiting to ambush me, and skedaddle home before I even take the time to think about what awaits me there.
Which is a mistake.
I scoot through the back alley, past the shops and between houses, avoiding dogs and always on the lookout for the train. Mama says her biggest fear is that I won’t be paying attention and will end up splat! like a fly in a wire fly killer.
I tried to explain that I probably wouldn’t be splattered on the tracks, but rather thrown off to the side, my arms to the right and my legs to the left, but she didn’t seem to want to discuss that scenario.
I don’t know why she even brought it up.
The track runs behind the boardinghouse. Mama doesn’t like me out there because of the train, obviously, but also because of the people who tend to gather there, fellows who are generally just down on their luck. Guys like Eugene “Genius” Malone. He’s not a bad sort. In fact, he’s a lot less dangerous than other people I know, specifically someone whose name rhymes with scary and berry and cherry.
That would be Geri.
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“Yo! Clem!” I jump to high heaven as a dusty figure emerges from behind the trees and dead leaves lining the banks of the railroad tracks. It’s Eugene. No matter how many times I remind him my name is Stan, he insists on calling me Clem, which doesn’t seem very genius to me.
“What’s the news round town?” he asks, brushing off his pants. They don’t look any cleaner.
I pause for a moment. It seems like something must have happened today. Something that knocked the wind out of me. Something unusual that made this day stand out from all the other days.
“Hmmm. Nothing new, Gene. Can’t say as if today was much different than yesterday, to tell you the truth,” I say sadly. We need a little excitement around here.
Gene scratches his whiskery chin. “Well, well. Excitement’s not all it’s cracked up to be, ya know. Sometimes just keeping on the straight and narrow, being happy with what you’ve been given, appreciating the little things…yep, sometimes that’s the best plan.”
“Ha, Eugene! Good one!” I bend over, laughing. I hear tell that Eugene Malone used to be one of the richest men in town, a regular dandy with his fancy suits and fashionable hats. Mrs. Law, of all people, said he was once “quite the catch.” Which worries me a bit for Gene’s safety, to be honest. I can’t imagine what would happen if she actually caught him.
I get serious for a second. “And it’s Stan, Gene. Stan!”
Gene just nods as he slowly picks at his teeth. “I speak the truth, Clem. Mind my words. You can’t pay money for peace of mind.” He tips his cap and meanders on down the track toward town. I happen to know he’s headed off to see Reverend Elliot at the Methodist Episcopal Church. Gene eats with Reverend Elliot once a week. I’m pretty sure it’s his act of charity, because the good reverend sure can talk, and he loves to go on and on about how no one appreciates him.
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“Don’t even tell me you are berating the honorable name of a man of the cloth,” says a chilling voice behind me. I’m afraid to turn around. “I pray for your very soul, Stanley Arthur Slater.”
I thought this ghastly woman and her evil, manners-minding ways were still at the lumber camp Mama and I left a month ago. I thought we were rid of her when we got on that wagon to start life anew in St. Ignace, a life of adventure and derring-do, not the boring existence of your average law-abiding citizen.
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If she had her way, I’d be like Marshall Curtis, a boy who just so happens to be our teacher Miss Wenzel’s very favorite student. I know this because she always calls on him and laughs at his pathetic jokes. Probably because she feels sorry for him. And probably because he always does what she asks him to do. And his trousers are always clean and pressed. And his assignments are always neat, and the girls always give him valentines even when it’s not St. Valentine’s Day.
He’s intolerable.
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“I actually met Marshall when we stopped downtown for supplies. He’s quite a considerate young man. And handsome, too.” That voice makes me feel the same way I did when I tried using Mama’s electric hairbrush—tingly. And not in a good way. I close my eyes and force myself not to answer or turn around. If I don’t see her, maybe she will cease to exist.
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This is a woman who thinks a bit of swearing will doom your soul and poor manners will ensure a future in the pokey. A woman who has the imagination of a flea and the brain to match.
A woman who insists I call her Granny.
“Oh, Stanley.” Her words drip disappointment. “I see our time apart has only served to make you stray down the path of juvenile delinquency. I don’t know with whom you’ve been spending time, but they are obviously of questionable character, judging by the behavior I’ve just witnessed. We are all known by the company we keep, and if you surround yourself with people who fail to respect a man of the cloth, swear like sailors, and have poor manners, you will become more like them.”
How long can I stand here without turning around? And if I wait long enough, will she leave?
“Also, who were you talking to before I came out? That man looked like he had just rolled through a pile of manure while eating a handful of dirt.”
“Granny!” I’ve had more than enough of her old-fashioned, small-minded ways. “That, for your information, is a man down on his luck.” I swing around to confront her. For someone who constantly tells me to love my neighbor, respect my elders, and be kind to all living things, she sure doesn’t practice what she preaches. And I’ve had
it. “That man is a genius, I’ll have you know!” I actually am not sure he really is a genius. I think maybe someone just called him that because “genius” sounds funny with the name Eugene, and then it stuck. At least that’s how I come up with my nicknames. Like Stan the Man.
Except that one is true.
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Granny sucks in her cheeks.
“He just happens to have fallen on some hard times, Granny.”
“He looks a bit familiar. What’s his name?” Granny asks.
“Eugene. Eugene Malone,” I answer cautiously. I wonder why she’s so curious.
Her eyes widen, and I swear I hear her thoughts click into place like tumblers in a safe. “That’s Eugene? My Eugene?” Granny grasps the neck of her dress and bites her lip.
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“Um,” I say. This is awkward. “I’m not sure he’s yours, Granny.” Could Granny be sweet on Eugene?
Ew.
Granny’s face flushes. “Um.” She straightens herself and her dress. “I just meant, I think I knew him once.”
I nod. “So did Mrs. Law,” I say.
“That old bat did not know Eugene like I did,” Granny snarls.
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“When did you know Mrs. Law? Or Eugene?” This is a surprising turn of events.
“We happened to attend school together.”
“What the heck? You went to school?”
Granny pinches my arm. She’s quicker than a bullfrog snatching a bug, and her pinch really hurts, even through my clothes. “Watch your mouth! I’ve got my eye on you, young man.”
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“I meant, where did you go to school, Granny?” I rub my arm as Granny adjusts her apron. She pushes me into the boardinghouse.
My Near-Death Adventures Page 2
