Enza

by Kristy K. James

  “So what were you thinking?” she asked a few moments later.

  “I almost forgot,” he said with a chuckle. “I was thinking about the trip home we’ve been talking about. And I think I’d rather postpone it.” He smiled during the lengthy pause that followed his announcement.

  “Whatever you think best,” she finally murmured. Though she tried to hide it, he could tell that she was disappointed. They hadn’t been back to Indiana for nearly five years.

  “I really do think it’s best. The timing just isn’t right this summer.”

  “Maybe next summer.”

  “No, I don’t want to go then either. I was thinking Christmas would be better.” He felt her go completely still. She wasn’t even breathing and his smile grew.

  “Do you mean it?”

  “I absolutely do.”

  “Oh, Elliot!” She was beaming, her eyes filled with tears, when she looked up at him. “It would be so wonderful to spend Christmas with our families again.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

  “Are you sure, though? You’ve never closed the store in December before.”

  “And I won’t this year. Lucille Hatfield is going to work for me while we’re gone. She mentioned that she’d like to buy Zeke a gramophone but wasn’t sure she would be able to save enough between now and then. And so we struck a deal.”

  “Thank you, Elliot. You couldn’t give me a nicer Christmas gift than this.”

  Chapter 6

  The things Elliot thought he liked most about spring were the sounds and scents of warmer weather. He swore you could smell the grass as it turned a deeper shade of green. In his opinion, it didn’t get any better than the soft fragrance of honeysuckle and lilacs as they perfumed the air all around them. The sound of children playing from all over the neighborhood and crickets chirping was a sure sign of winter’s passing, as was the creak of the chains as he gently rocked the porch swing back and forth.

  His arm around her shoulders, Margaret was mending a pair of dungarees, humming contentedly as Charles sat a few feet away building something with his blocks. Elizabeth was at another Suffrage meeting. Jonathon was, no doubt, spying on Mr. Mertz again, while Richard studied for the tests that seemed to increase in frequency toward the end of the school year, and Kathleen played with her babies in the parlor.

  He didn’t think life could get any better than this, except maybe someday when the good Lord presented him with a few grandchildren. Not that he was in any rush to be a grandfather; it was just something he looked forward to when the time came.

  He wished his or Margaret’s parents lived closer because he knew the children were missing out on a great deal from not knowing them well. But when they’d moved here from Indiana after inheriting his grandfather’s shoe store, it was a loss they’d been forced to bear.

  “When do you think we should tell them about the trip back home,” he asked, whispering softly in her ear.

  “I don’t know,” Margaret whispered back. Her excitement came through loud and clear though. As much as they both loved Charlotte, Indianapolis would always be home. Still he knew they would never move back, even when he grew too old to run Owens Fine Shoes, because their children considered this home.

  “I’ve thought about just telling them we can’t go this summer after all, and then helping you pack all of our bags in December while they’re at school. Can you imagine how surprised they would be? To just head down to the depot and catch the train?”

  “Is that what you want to do then?” Margaret asked, glancing up at him with a smile, and a kiss for his cheek.

  “I don’t know. They’re going to be so disappointed if we just tell them we’re not able to go. Well, except for Elizabeth,” Elliot said wryly. “She wasn’t thrilled about going in the first place. Then there’s Jonathon. He might feel the country will fall into ruin if he can’t keep an eye on Mr. Mertz, so he’ll be torn between disappointment and relief.” The thought made him chuckle.

  “Elliot, you have got to stop encouraging his spying,” she admonished, though he noticed the corners of her lips twitching. “You and I both know that Mr. Mertz is no more guilty of being a spy than you or I.”

  “I can’t help it,” he laughed softly, knowing Charles paid more attention to the goings on around him than he let on. “It’s too much fun. He’s so enthusiastic, Meg. And so thorough. Have you taken a look at the notes he takes? They may be pure fantasy but he’s absolutely meticulous.”

  “No, I haven’t,” she admitted, cutting off the thread she’d just knotted. “I don’t want to encourage him.” Elliot bit the inside of his cheek hard, knowing a reminder of the afternoon she had encouraged him would spoil the moment. “Do you have any idea how offended Mr. Mertz might be if he found out that our son has been spying on him for months?”

  “I think Mr. Mertz is offended because his neighbors are breathing, Meg. He’s the most unhappy person I’ve ever known.”

  “Maybe,” she suggested, looking at him through her lashes, “it’s because people like our son spy on him.” Elliot seemed to consider that for a moment then grinned.

  “And maybe he’s just a bad tempered old man.” Margaret sighed gustily at that, but he knew she wasn’t really upset with him.

  “I suppose that means you’re not going to discourage Jonathon.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what it means,” Elliot said agreeably.

  She tried to hide it but his prim and proper wife wore a grin of her own.

  Elliot couldn’t help himself. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, right there, for all the world to see. If anyone was bothering to pay attention. But he doubted that they’d acquired an audience. Unless, perhaps, there happened to be a bored patient or employee at the sanatorium across the street.

  ~~~

  The incessant buzzing of the flies was maddening, Jonathon thought irritably. Almost as irritating as the feather light landings against his bare flesh. It gave him the creepy crawlies, and tickled a little, too. No matter how often he waved them away, they returned in seconds, undeterred by his efforts. At least you could squash a mosquito. They, too, had swarmed him as soon as he started climbing, but he did have the satisfaction of knowing he’d rid the world of a couple dozen of those pesky insects so far. Too bad the flies moved so fast or he’d have reduced their population by a few dozen as well.

  Nestled securely in the branches of the tall pine behind the Owens’ house, he resented the distraction they seemed bent on causing. Between the mostly dense needles and the dim illumination of twilight, his view of Mr. Mertz’s backyard wasn’t the best in the first place. The added misery threatened the success of this mission.

  And an important mission it was, too, if the peculiar goings on next door were any indication.

  Three paces due south of the southeast corner of the house, and five west. Suspicious movements in and of themselves but then Mr. Mertz dropped to his knees. Well dropped might have been overstating the action just a little. To be accurate, it was more like he slowly lowered himself to the ground, and one thing Jonathon intended to be was accurate. The safety of the entire country might depend on it.

  He could see that the old man had pulled a spade from the pocket of his jacket and began to dig in front of him.

  Frogs, crickets, the faint noise of a carriage rolling along the bricks on Main Street, they all seemed to conspire against him. It was a wonder a boy could hear himself think much less anything else that might be important. Yet the sound of metal scraping against dirt and stones rang clear in the rapidly descending darkness. Again and again he scooped up small bits of earth, piling it in the grass beside the hole.

  And then he stopped.

  Jonathon had to squint hard to see more clearly, though it didn’t help much. Too many shadows obscured the view between him and the yard next door. But there was no mistaking the fact that Mr. Mertz reached into his other pocket and pulled out – something – from its depths.
And not a very large something. It wasn’t very small either though.

  Almost completely dark now, Jonathon didn’t actually see him drop the object into the hole, but he must have done so because he quickly began returning the dirt from where it had come.

  Ah- Ah- Ahchoo!

  He’d tried to muffle the sneeze as best he could, wishing the fly who had just tickled his nose a swift and well deserved end. Mr. Mertz obviously heard the commotion because the pace of his movements increased and he kept looking around, as if to determine where the noise originated.

  Yessiree, something very suspicious was going on over there. And one day President Wilson himself was going to award a medal to Jonathon for exposing a spy who could, at this very moment, threaten the safety and well-being of every American citizen.

  With all the trouble he’d had so far this evening, it shouldn’t have surprised him at all that, just as Mr. Mertz had gotten to his feet and was dusting his hands on his jacket, Elizabeth should shout irritably from the back door,

  “Jonathon! Mother says you have to come in now!”

  So startled was he that he lost his balance on the limb and slid several feet down the trunk, skinning his palms on the roughened bark and bumping his knee against a lower branch. Fortunately for him he managed to wrap his arms tightly around the trunk.

  Mr. Mertz couldn’t have failed to hear the summons and probably knew that Jonathon had been spying on him. He’d have to be extra careful from now on, he thought crossly, making his way carefully to the ground.

  He looked for Mr. Mertz when he cleared the tree but the old man must have hurried inside.

  Jonathon marched across the yard, blowing on his stinging hands, muttering about how he got no respect, and wouldn’t it be just wonderful if all his hard work was for naught because some of his family members couldn’t comprehend the importance of what he was trying to do.

  ~~~

  Colby sighed mightily, sinking comfortably into his wicker chair on the porch and setting a glass of tea on the low table beside it. It was evenings like this, pleasant spring evenings, with the sun resting just on the horizon, that he would have enjoyed the company of a pleasant wife. One who appreciated the simple things in life.

  Simple things like the sound of the children laughing and shrieking down the block, playing some game that so obviously entertained them they couldn’t contain their joy. Tag, he thought. Or hide-n-seek.

  But the queen was tucked safely away in her castle, windows securely closed to shut out the ‘racket from those brats.’ Protected from the possibility that a bug might attack her, even though he’d tried to explain that it was too early in the season for all but the hardiest of insects to venture out. Definitely chilly enough that he’d slipped into a warm jacket before settling in to take advantage of the warmer weather.

  “Good evening, Reverend Thornton,” little Tommy Sullivan panted, running up to the porch while casting quick glances behind him. “Can I hide in your bushes? “

  So he’d guessed correctly. Hide-n-seek often expanded to include nearby yards, sheds and automobiles. It made him wish he were a youngster again, or that he could just throw maturity to the wind and join in anyway.

  “You certainly may,” he said with a chuckle.

  “If you see Stuart Morgan, don’t tell him I’m here please,” he whispered, ducking behind a Boxwood shrub. In serious need of pruning, it would conceal the boy quite nicely.

  “Mum’s the word,” he promised, holding his forefinger against his lips.

  “But you won’t tell him, right?” Colby laughed outright at that.

  “No, Tommy, he won’t hear a peep out of me.”

  He watched a few branches rustling as the boy made himself comfortable, and then all was still.

  “Reverend Thornton?”

  “Yes, Tommy?”

  “Do you see him yet?”

  Colby glanced up and down the street but could only see a couple of children off in the distance – and moving farther away. He hoped that the young man wouldn’t be stuck too long in his little hiding place, but thought it a distinct possibility. Most of the children were afraid of Anna and they might not think anyone would be brave enough to risk her wrath.

  “I think I’m gonna win,” Tommy whispered a few minutes later. “They’re all scaredy-cats and-” Seeming to realize that he was about to say something that another husband might find offensive, he stopped abruptly and Colby grinned from ear-to-ear.

  “I suspect you’re right, young man. Mrs. Thornton may be your secret weapon in winning the game tonight.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed that announcement and Colby wished he could have seen the expression on Tommy’s face just then. Finally he heard a low chuckle and Tommy whispered,

  “You’re an okay fellow, Reverend Thornton.”

  About a quarter of an hour later, one of the children shouted, “Olly, Olly oxen free!” Tommy stepped out from behind the bush, thanked him kindly, and trotted off down the street, head held high. He had, indeed, won the game.

  ~~~

  Marcus stumbled down the stairs, barely awake, as the telephone rang for about the fiftieth time. He didn’t know who might be calling at nearly half past eleven, but before he hung up, they would know exactly what his opinion of the practice was. A body should have the right to sleep through the night without interruption.

  The hardwood floor was cold against his bare feet and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to put his slippers on when he’d finally managed to crawl out of bed.

  “Hello!” he snapped into the mouthpiece.

  “Marcus? Dear, is that you?”

  “Mother?” he asked in disbelief. Of course. She always forgot the three hour difference between their time zones. He tried to stifle a yawn but she heard it anyway.

  “Did I wake you, son?”

  “It’s all right, Mother. I hadn’t been in bed long.” It wasn’t really a lie. Not in the strictest sense of the word. Two hours wasn’t long if one considered the entire eight hours he normally slept.

  “What time is it in Michigan again? It’s a little after eight here, son.”

  “Close to your time, Mother.” Eleven-thirty wasn‘t that far removed from eight-thirty. “How are you and Pop doing?”

  “Just fine, son. Missing you, which is the reason I called. I needed to hear your voice.” He smothered another yawn and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

  “It’s nice to hear your voice, too, Mother. How’s the weather out there?” Much warmer than the fifty degrees they’d enjoyed in Charlotte today, he was sure.

  “Just like summertime back home, son. You really ought to consider joining us. I know how much you hate winter.” Marcus couldn’t see himself living in Phoenix. His parents had moved out there about eight years ago because Doc Garlington thought it would help his mother’s arthritis. He’d been out to visit a couple of times and hated the extreme heat of summer.

  “You know I like the change of seasons here,” he explained instead. And, truth be told, he did. Especially autumn.

  “Have you met anyone special yet?” Ah. The real reason came out. Not that it was a big surprise. That was where each monthly telephone call wound up, although she usually managed to wait a bit longer than this to bring the subject up. His father worried incessantly that the McClelland name would die out if Marcus didn’t marry and provide heirs. Never mind that he had several male McClelland cousins, it was imperative that this particular line continue on through the generations.

  “Not yet,” he sighed, holding on to his patience by sheer force of will. “I think everyone is more concerned with the war than anything else right now.” The fleeting hope that he could steer her to a different subject died a swift death as she continued,

  “What about that Monroe girl? Candace, isn’t it? She always seemed sweet on you.”

  “Caroline. She married Robert Taylor a couple of years ago.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. Well, what about Leona
Baker?”

  “Loretta. She’s married, too. In fact, she has three boys now.” Marcus shook his head. The list was endless, his mother’s mostly accurate memory being long. Fortunately most were married. One had even joined a convent so he was safe from that suggestion.

  “Marcus, you know we only have your best interests at heart. It’s not good for a for a fine young man like you to be alone. What you need is a good wife and lots of children.” Heaven forbid! He shuddered at the thought of ‘lots of children.’ What he needed was a little more sleep.

  “I know that, Mother. I just don’t think I’m ready to settle down yet.”

  “Son, I know you’ve always been shy but it’s time to take the bull by the horns and make us grandparents. “ She waxed poetic about the joys of grandchildren and how lovely it would be when they visited one another, to spoil them. “But it’s hard to spoil children that aren’t here yet, Marcus. You’re nearly twenty-eight. It’s time to think about settling down.”

  Marcus figured if he were anymore settled, he’d be in a grave.

  “I’ll think about it, Mother,” was all he said to her though. He’d learned long ago that arguing with her was futile. As long as it wasn’t a lie, he told her what she wanted to hear. Whatever would make her stop nagging him to find a wife. So he would think about it – for about five seconds. Just long enough to make his promise the truth.

  “That’s what you always say,” she complained in that whining tone he so hated. He’d almost rather she shouted at him.

  “And I always do. I just haven’t met the right girl yet. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “You promise?” He heard the excitement in her voice and felt a twinge of guilt. But it wasn’t like he actually knew any women. Beyond their names anyway.

  “I promise. Hey, is Pop around?”

  “He‘s sleeping. The poor man spent most of the day with his cronies playing golf. You know your father loves that game more than anything else. Maybe even more than me. He’s so pleased to live where he can play year round that he still hasn’t gotten over the novelty.” She laughed merrily. “Just this morning he said, ‘Harriet, can you imagine me trying to play golf in Michigan in April?’ I told him I couldn’t. You probably still have some snow on the ground.”