Herbert Rowbarge
Page 16
Babe looks around with a frown. “Maybe we should redecorate,” she says. “Throw everything out and start from scratch.”
“You mean curtains? And chairs and … carpets?” Louisa asks, amazed.
“Well, yes. If we’re going to do it at all,” says Babe, “we should do it right down to the bath mats.”
“That would cost a lot,” says Louisa. “But still, I guess we can afford it. It’s queer, though, isn’t it, Daddy’s leaving half his money to us and the other half to Walter. You’d think he’d have divided it in thirds.”
“I think he more or less forgot there were two of us,” says Babe. “But I don’t care, do you? It’s still a lot of money.”
“A whole lot,” says Louisa. “What in the world will we do with it all?”
“I don’t know,” says Babe.
“We could go to blues and whites,” suggests Louisa. “When we do the house over. With little touches of pink.”
“And yellow,” Babe agrees. “Yellow makes a nice accent.”
Warming to the project now, Louisa says, “Do you think we could get a television set? Everybody’s got them now, and we’re probably missing a lot.”
“You’re right,” says Babe. “We should get a television set. Maybe even two. One for the living room, and another one upstairs. In our bedroom.”
“Two!” Louisa exclaims.
“Well, we could,” says Babe. “If we want to.”
They gaze at each other in wonder. Babe gets up, brings the bottle of wine to the table, and fills up their glasses. “And then there’s the matter of the car,” she says, sitting down again. “Daddy’s is just too … well, I suppose we could get it repaired, but …”
“Oh, no,” says Louisa with a shudder. “That would be gruesome. I could never drive it again.”
“Me, either,” says Babe with relief. “So that’s settled.”
Louisa brightens. “I wonder if we’re too old for a convertible.”
“We’re not too old for anything,” says Babe firmly. “A convertible would be just the ticket. In case we want to go to Florida.”
“Florida!”
“Well, Walter said we ought to go down to Florida. Sarasota, maybe. Get away for a rest to somewhere with a nice beach.”
“That’s an awfully long drive,” says Louisa.
“But Walter said we wouldn’t have to drive,” Babe explains. “He said we could fly, and have the car shipped down on the train.”
“But, Babe, we’ve never even been in an airplane.”
“Everybody does it now, though, I guess,” says Babe.
“Well, I suppose if we’re having the house redone, they could put in the carpeting while we’re gone,” says Louisa. “So I wouldn’t have to see it rolled up.”
“That’s right,” says Babe. “It could all be done by the time we got back.”
They are silent, then, eyes round, thinking. After a while Louisa says, “It was a nice funeral.”
“Yes,” says Babe, “it really was. Nicer than Uncle Stuart’s, with the weather so warm and all. And Dr. Bray gave a wonderful eulogy, didn’t you think so?”
“Yes,” says Louisa, “but that was hard. To listen to, I mean.”
“Well, we’ll never have to do it again,” says Babe.
After a moment Louisa says, carefully, “Babe, we probably won’t want to throw everything out. I … I’m sort of fond of the living room the way it is.”
“Well, I am, too, actually,” says Babe. “And the curtains are practically new.”
“And this is a nice room,” says Louisa, looking around.
“Yes, it really is. Daddy had good taste. I’ve always liked this wallpaper.”
They look at each other. There is a long pause, and then Babe says, “Of course, if we don’t want to go as far as Florida, there’s some really nice beaches right up on Lake Erie.”
“That’s so,” says Louisa eagerly. “Why, there must be plenty of places with good hotels and everything.”
“I’m sure of it,” says Babe. “If we did that, we wouldn’t have to ship the car at all. We could just drive up and back.”
“That’s better, anyway,” says Louisa. “That way, you’re not tied down to airplane reservations. Why did Walter think we ought to go to Florida?”
“I don’t know,” says Babe. “He just said it would be good for us. But after that,” she goes on, hesitantly, “Aunt Opal said we ought to go to Europe in the fall. She said she’d go with us.” She pauses. “Louisa, do you want to go to Europe?”
Louisa takes a sip of wine and sets her glass down carefully. At last she says, in a small voice, “Well, not a whole lot.”
“But neither do I!” cries Babe, clapping her hands together. “Not at all!”
They look at each other again, and all at once they begin to laugh. “I don’t even want to go to Lake Erie!” Louisa manages.
“Nope,” Babe whoops, “not in the least. And I’ll tell you something else. I don’t want to redecorate our bedroom. I love our bedroom. I think it’s beautiful!”
“We’d look pretty silly in a convertible, as far as that goes,” says Louisa, wiping her eyes.
Babe pushes back her plate. “Louisa,” she says, “we don’t have to do what Walter says. Or Aunt Opal, either. From now on, we can do what we want.”
“I guess they’ll think we’re pretty dull,” says Louisa.
“Well, so what?” says Babe. “Might as well face it. We are dull. Old and plain and dull.”
“But rich,” says Louisa. “Don’t forget that. Old, plain, dull, and rich.”
Babe stands up. “What time is it?” she asks.
“It’s … let’s see … it’s so dark in here … it’s eight-thirty,” says Louisa, peering at her watch.
“Perfect,” says Babe. “There’s just time. For the second show. If we hurry.”
“Oh, Babe, lovely. What’s playing?”
“I don’t know,” says Babe. “What difference does it make?”
“None!” cries Louisa. “It doesn’t matter in the least.”
“And afterwards,” says Babe, “we’ll go to the Frostee-Freeze and get a hot-fudge sundae.”
“With nuts,” says Louisa, “and a cherry.”
Babe nods. “Nuts, and a cherry, and a great big gob of whipped cream.”
But before they go out to Walter’s car, waiting in the warm June night that hangs so full of stars and peepers and the far-off music of the Pleasure Dome, they carry their dishes to the kitchen, put away the wine, and carefully blow out the candles. Then they go, each, to a separate bathroom, and behind the two closed doors, with the water running, they each give in, quietly, to a backed-up rush of tears, trying, with tissues pressed against their eyes, not to name the reason. Afterward, they splash their faces with cold water and, meeting again in the hall, they leave the house, locking the door behind them, and drive away, with Babe at the wheel, together.
CHILDREN’S LIBRARY
FORT HUACHUCA, AZ. 85613
Books by Natalie Babbitt
Dick Foote and the Shark
Phoebe’s Revolt
The Search for Delicious
Kneeknock Rise
The Something
Goody Hall
The Devil’s Storybook
Tuck Everlasting
The Eyes of the Amaryllis
Herbert Rowbarge
Copyright © 1982 by Natalie Babbitt
All rights reserved
Library of Congress catalog card no: 82—18274
Published simultaneously in Canada by
McGraw-Hill Ryerson Ltd., Toronto
eISBN 9781429955409
First eBook Edition : February 2011
Designed by Cynthia Krupat
First edition, 1982
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