A Father for Philip

by Gill, Judy Griffith

  “But Grant!” Eleanor cried indignantly. “You know we can’t eat salami. Did you give him a choice, or did you just arbitrarily force the salami on him?”

  “It was already made. You simply can’t let a six-year-old waste food on a whim.”

  “Oh, darn you! You know it’s too spicy for him.” This subject had come up once before on a picnic for which Grant’s cook prepared the meal. Philip had eaten the sliced meat and become ill. “And he’s no longer a six-year-old. He has a birthday while you were away.” And you didn’t so much as acknowledge it. She wondered if he would have had he not been away. She couldn’t recall his ever so much as saying ‘Happy Birthday’ to her son on previous years.

  “The kid has to learn to do things he doesn’t like, and to eat things he doesn’t like. Those are just simple facts of life, Ellie, and the sooner he learns it, the better will be for all of us. Do you think I like making him, and therefore you, unhappy?”

  Him, yes! Maybe not me, but I fully believe that you go out of your way to antagonize Philip. The thought popped into Eleanor’s mind before she could squelch it. She felt ashamed at once. Aloud, she said, “Grant, I have not agreed to marry you, and my decision regarding any future between you and me hinges largely upon Philip’s acceptance of you as a possible stepfather. I really think if you try a bit more tact and patience, you’d have been eating out of your hand just as you do your horses. Look how gentle and kind you are with me. And I’m a grown woman, accustomed to fighting my own battles. Why not see if you could try a little of the same treatment on a small boy who will, if we ever marry, be seeing the world, as he knows it, falling apart?”

  “Now look here, Ellie,” said Grant said severely, standing up and glaring down at her. “Don’t go using that kid as an excuse to put off making a decision about us one moment longer than you legally must. I’ve made my decision, and I’ve made my intentions clear. It’s time for you to do the same. Think about this. That boy of yours will be gone in another eleven or twelve years and then you’ll be a sad, lonely woman if you allow him to rule your life now.”

  He walked out, leaving her to her now cold soup, for which she had no appetite anyway. Eleanor nibbled at a strip of toast, drank some of the juice and put the tray on the nightstand. She lay back trying to think, but her fever-befuddled brain refused to cooperate.

  When Grant returned an hour later, his mood seemed to have improved. “Hello, dear-heart,” he greeted from the doorway. Eleanor opened her eyes, wishing he would let her sleep a bit longer. He didn’t. He sat down again.

  “I like this room. Actually, I like this little house of yours. I could use it as a pattern for the new ones I plan to build. Not honeymoon-places, but family cabins. That, at least, would encourage people to rent them instead of hotel suites when they insist on bringing their children on vacation.”

  “But you built the waterslides,” she said. “Wasn’t that to attract families with children?”

  “Well, I did think they’d come more for day-trips, than actually stay in the hotel,” he said. “Children are very unruly and disturb legitimate guests. They find it irritating.”

  Eleanor thought of the over-liquored guests she’d encountered the odd times when she and Grant had stayed overnight in the city. They didn’t appear to irritate Grant when they came noisily through corridors at three o’clock in the morning. Maybe he slept more soundly than she did.

  “But that’s not what I want to discuss,” he said, breaking into her wandering thoughts, jerking her unhappily back to what he wanted to talk about. “I think we should keep this place just for us. A private little hideaway. That nice row of Lombardy poplars does give it an air of seclusion from the rest of the property—just what I’ve always wanted—a house beside the ninth hole.” He nodded with satisfaction at his own idea. “All we’d need in the way of renovations is an en-suite bathroom. This bedroom is plenty big enough for the two of us.” He smiled. “The bed is, too. The second bedroom would make a nice home office for when—”

  “No!” The word popped out before Eleanor could stop it. She recoiled at the idea of sharing this house, this bedroom, this bed, with anyone but David, which she knew might be irrational, but still… “Grant. If you married, wouldn’t you want to start fresh with your wife, in a place with no… past?”

  “Heck, no! If you mean your memories, I’d soon put those right out of your mind. Here, drink your juice. This cottage is as good a place as any. But there is one thing I want to do, Ellie, after we’re married, and that is get rid of Bill Robbins. This setup you have with him is ridiculous. It would make more sense to raze that old house, sell off the cows and chickens and whatever else he has up there and put in a golf course. Talk about revenue!” His eyes gleamed. “How you ever came to that stupid arrangement with him in the first place, is something I don’t understand. But no woman,” he added kindly, “should be expected to have as much business sense.”

  Eleanor felt her hackles rise, felt her nostrils begin to flare, she tried and failed to control herself. “It’s a damned good agreement I have with Kathy and Bill! It works out well for all of us! They pay me an excellent rent for the use of both the house and the land, and you have to admit that, as long as farmers work the land for themselves—and they do work, hard—they put more into it than if they were just on salary. I want this place cared for properly for Philip’s sake. It will be his one day if he wants it, and if he doesn’t, the way Bill and Kathy look after it, continue to develop it, build it up, it’s going to have great resale value if they ever want out. But I’d sell it as a dairy farm. Not a golf course.”

  “But you don’t understand the financial end of it, dear-heart,” explained Grant with great patience. “Do you get any more rent from him if the yield is particularly good, or milk prices go up in any given year?”

  “Maybe not,” she responded wearily, “but on the other hand, when the year is a bad one, I don’t get less, either.” She put the orange juice glass, still half full, on the tray. “If it wasn’t for this farm, where would your chef get all the good fresh dairy products and vegetables he likes? The things you advertise? Make money from?”

  “There’s more than one place to get fresh produce and dairy products,” he said, “and many more ways to make a profit.”

  “Then go do it somewhere else, Grant.”

  The exhaustion in her voice must’ve tweaked nerve of contrition in Grant’s soul, for he patted her knees, which were humped up under the covers. “Ellie, when we’re married, you can let me make all these decisions for you. You’re tired of all this, and you need me to do it for you. I want to look after you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Grant. I know that. but—”

  “Then couldn’t you try to look a little happier about our engagement?” He asked wistfully.

  Eleanor forced weak smile. Never had she felt less like looking happy. “We are not engaged.”

  “Maybe not officially, but I’m confident we soon will be. Just as soon as you’re better, I plan to throw the biggest party the town of Fraserview has ever seen and tell everyone our plans.”

  Not if those plans include selling my son’s heritage, dispossessing my tenants, and turning a profitable dairy farm into a golf course.

  “If that happens, Grant,” she said, “it won’t be until after I see a lawyer, get a court date, and have a judge’s decree. That will all take time. After those arrangements have been made, when—if—I’m free…” She broke off while racking coughs shook her, and took notice of the fact that Grant leaned well back in his chair while she spewed forth germs, despite her burying her choughs against the covers over her knees.

  When the spasm had ended, Grant started to speak, but Eleanor forestalled him, waving a hand for silence. “If you’ll just be patient a little longer Grant, then if and when we become engaged you can tell the whole world. Can’t you see it would be wrong to make any kind of an announcement while I’m still legally married to David? Let me tie up tho
se loose ends first, please, and give me some time to do it. Some time to think.” She managed a smile as she finished speaking, and he must’ve been mollified for he leaned nearer and stroked her hair back from her brow.

  “Sure,” he said easily, yet she sensed a note of triumph in manner, as if he thought he’d secured a solid agreement from her.

  “I have to go now, Ellie. I’ve decided to go back to Kamloops and see if I can’t get the problems up there sorted out. There’s one politician who’s determined to block me, but”—his eyes narrowed—“there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I’ll be back late next week or the week after. Get better, and try to have those proceedings well underway when I return.”

  He picked up the tray to take it away but set the glass of juice on the bedside table. “The soup, I won’t force on you, but see you drink every drop of that orange juice. It’s freshly squeezed… None of that frozen stuff for my girl when she’s sick.”

  “You are good to me,” Eleanor said, smiling at him, trying to show without words that she was sorry for the argument and her inability to make a decision. “I’m really grateful.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude,” he replied heavily. Then, with a change of tone, “I’ve made a casserole for you and… Philip.” He seemed almost to choke on the boy’s name. “It’s in the refrigerator. All you’ll have to do is put it in the oven and turn it on it four. See you in a couple of weeks.”

  He waved a cheerful hand at her and was gone.

  Chapter Six

  Philip forced down the salami sandwich, gagging at the greasy taste in his mouth, the spicy burn on his tongue, gulped his milk, scooped up his dog and darted out of the house without once looking at or speaking to the man who was making himself so much at home in his mother’s kitchen. Some of the things Grant had said to him were still ringing in his unhappy mind. He raced his bike until he was out of sight of the house then slowed and walked it disconsolately toward the clearing, the puppy still in the basket. He had such a lot to think about and the salami sat heavily on his stomach.

  He slumped into the clearing and caught sight of Jeff. His need for comfort became paramount and he dropped the bike, puppy and all, and ran to the man, flinging himself against Jeff’s legs, ignoring the close proximity of the horse, and the fact that it was loose, and bawled.

  Jeff dropped to his knees and held the boy close until howling stopped. “What’s up, sport?”

  “Grant came back and yelled at me to shut up because my mom’s sick and he made me put Casey outside and he made me eat a salami sandwich and now my tummy hurts!” Philip’s tummy, at that very moment rebelled and in short order hurt no more, but felt distinctly better, if somewhat empty.

  “Come over to the creek and rinse your mouth out, son, and I’ll wash off your face for you,” said Jeff. He lifted the little boy in his arms and, cradling him tenderly, carried him to the edge of the creek. There was a hard cast to his mouth, an oddly blazing fury in his eyes, but he was gentle as he cared for the little boy. To take Philip’s mind off his troubles for a few moments before he began questioning the child, as he knew he must, Jeff said, “Did you know this creek runs all the way into the Pacific ocean?”

  Philip looked up at him questioningly. “My mom said it did, but I walked along it one day and didn’t see any ocean.”

  “Your mom was right,” said Jeff. “But it doesn’t get there all by itself. It has help. Way north and east of here, the Fraser River starts, far, far away, right up at the very foot of the Rocky Mountains.” He picked up a twig and drew lines in the dirt. “See? Like this. Here’s the Fraser. Now, these two, the North Thompson and the South Thompson rivers come to join up with each other, then together, they run into the Fraser. After that, our creek and a bunch of others creeks and streams and rivers join in and all together go bumping over rocks, around mountains, and through canyons, splishing and splashing until all the waters that joined together finally get to the ocean.”

  Philip nodded gravely. “My mom told me that, too. She used to help me make boats and we’d float them down the creek back by our house so that they could go all the way to the ocean. We used to pretend that somewhere my father would find one, if he’s still alive and that he’d wonder if we had made it and sent it off to see him, and then he’d think about us some.” The mention of his mother seemed to upset him again. Tears flooded his eyes. Jeff picked him up once more and carried Philip to the shade at the side of the cabin.

  When he had the child comfortable in the crook of his arm, sitting warm and secure on his lap, he said, “Now tell me what all this is about? Is your mom really sick?”

  Philip nodded tearfully. “She was in bed when I got home for lunch and Grant came out of her room and told me to shut up. Then he squeezed her some oranges for juice and made some soup and put it on a tray… With a flower,” he added disgustedly. “He did the dishes, cleaned up the house and that’s why Casey couldn’t stay in and have lunch with me. My mom lets him eat in the kitchen. That’s where he’s used to finding his dishes in the daytime. He only get a water dish on the porch at night, cause that’s the rules. I told Grant but he said that my mom wasn’t going to be making the rules much longer because she was going to see a man after the weekend and when the judge said it’s okay she’s going to marry him and he’ll be the boss.” Philip gulped in air, buried his head against Jeff and wailed. “And he said when they get married real, real soon, we’ll be leaving our house and going to live at the hotel and Casey can’t go cause dogs don’t belong at hotels and I won’t ever see you again and I won’t see the log cabin or give Siwash apples!”

  Jeff rock the child in his arms, fighting down a wash of deep and bitter anger. He held Philip, letting him have his cry, then he said, “No more, my son. Don’t cry anymore. There, now… Don’t.” He pulled a red and white handkerchief from a back pocket. “Here, blow your nose and listen to me.”

  When Philip was sitting quiet and attentive, his eyes raised with trust to Jeff’s face, Jeff felt such a surge of fury, of futile hatred rush over him, that he clenched his fists until the knuckles showed white. Mixed in with that was fear, fear that what he was about to tell this unhappy child, might never be. But Philip needed help, reassurance, and he needed it now. To hell with the letter of the law. Laws, if need be, could be broken, and surely no mother would deprive her son of… Philip stirred restlessly.

  “Sport, I’m promising you something. The two of us—you and I—are going to spend lots of weekends and every summer together in the cabin, even if your mother does marry Grant. And if he won’t let you keep Casey, I’ll look after him for you so you can still have him when you come stay with me. Would that make you feel better about having Grant for a stepfather?”

  “I’d rather have you as a stepfather.” Philip sniffed.

  “Just not possible, Phil, but think about what I said, will you? You and me and Siwash and Casey, lots of weekends during the school year, then every summer, maybe even for your whole vacation, living here in the log cabin. Sound good?”

  Philip nodded, and Jeff went on. “Then listen to me. Your mother loves you but she loves Grant, too, or she wouldn’t want to marry him. And if you keep on fighting with Grant every time you see him, you’re going to make your mom very sad. Now, I know you’re sad, too, Phil, and that’s why I thought that if we made plans to spend time together every summer, for as many summers as you’d like, you might feel a little happier about having your mom love Grant too. You know that doesn’t mean she’s stopped loving you, right?”

  “But she loves a ghost, remember? Did Grant mean my real father, Jeff, when he said she was in love with a ghost? How come big people have to love other big people?”

  “I think maybe Grant did mean your real father, Philip, but it would seem that your mom has decided she doesn’t love a ghost anymore. And why should she? Didn’t he go away a long, time ago and never come back? Even if he had the best reasons in the world for not coming home, she couldn’t have gone on
loving him forever, waiting for him to return. We can’t expect that of her, son.”

  “But we never had a dad in our house before, Jeff, so why do we have to have one now?” The tears welled up again in spite of the promise of summers together. The thought of the times when it was not summer were overwhelmingly larger than the brief summer vacations.

  “Phil, I can’t explain that to you,” answered Jeff sadly. “But it’s true you do have to have a dad in your house sooner or later. Your mom loves Grant and it’s up to us, to you and me, to see that she gets a chance to be happy with him.” Jeff pushed Philip upright. He laughed. “Hey! Look at Si and Casey!”

  Philip looked over at the dog and the horse. The puppy cavorted around the horse’s feet and Siwash had his nose down snuffling at the noisy little pup. The big nose would bump the puppy, who would fall, roll over and come right back for more. Philip giggled, tears forgotten for the moment, and darted between the horse’s feet to get Casey.

  “Bad boy!” he scolded. “You’re not supposed to bite Si’s nose.” As Jeff watched, silent, tense, and alert, holding his breath, Philip reached up and patted the horse’s nose. “Poor old Si,” he said sympathetically. “I won’t let him do it again.”