Jubilee's Journey

by Bette Lee Crosby

  At nine-twenty Olivia shrugged on her sweater and was ready to walk out the door when Clara knocked.

  “Where on earth have you been?” Every word had worry attached to it.

  Clara, winded as if she’d run a marathon, answered, “I had a bunch of errands to do.”

  “Errands? In the middle of the night?”

  “It’s not even nine-thirty.”

  Olivia looked at her watch: nine-twenty-five. “It seems much later.” Shepherding Clara into the kitchen, she brewed a pot of chamomile tea. “It’ll calm our nerves.”

  “I’m not nervous,” Clara replied. “Just tired.”

  “From what?” Olivia asked. Again she got that vague say-nothing answer, so she moved on to tell of her day. “We went to look at an apartment but it was way on the other side of town, and—”

  Clara’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t take it, did you?”

  “I didn’t have the chance. The ad said doghouse and yard, but to be on the safe side I asked if having a dog was okay. ‘Sure,’ this guy says, ‘I got no problem with dogs.’ So then I ask about the schools. All of a sudden he starts looking at me like I’ve got two heads. ‘Schools?’ he says. ‘Why you wanna know about schools?’ I thought it was pretty obvious, but I answer and tell him, ‘I’ve got three children.’”

  “And?”

  “He starts yelling about how he can’t stand kids. ‘Dogs is okay,’ he says, ‘but no kids!’”

  “Good,” Clara said. “I’m glad you didn’t take the place. It’s too far away, and, besides, you’re rushing things. You don’t even know if Anita is going to let you keep those kids.”

  “I think it’s pretty safe to say she doesn’t want them.”

  “Wait until you know for sure.”

  The conversation went back and forth with Olivia insisting that it was better to be prepared for the inevitable and Clara insisting that the inevitable wasn’t always inevitable. When that subject was worn threadbare, they moved to a discussion of Carmella’s phone call.

  “I’ve invited them to dinner tomorrow,” Olivia said. “From the way Carmella was talking, I think Mister Klaussner has some sort of reward for Paul.”

  “So you’re going to be busy tomorrow evening, right?”

  When Olivia answered yes, Clara sat there with a strange curl pulling at the corners of her lips.

  Dinner Guests

  In the wee hours of the morning, when a chorus of snores was all a person could hear in the hallways of Wyattsville Arms, Olivia found sleep impossible to come by. When she tried to conjure up the image of something pleasant—taking the children to the zoo, a day at the beach, a picnic in the park—it quickly became a flashback to the dreary house she’d visited. If a place such as that didn’t allow children, what, she wondered, could she expect?

  By morning Olivia had come to the conclusion that this dinner party might be the last one she’d have in this apartment, so she vowed to make it special. Once the children had gone off to play she polished the silver, shined her very best crystal glasses, and took out the package of Irish linen napkins she’d been saving for a special occasion.

  When the doorbell rang at six o’clock, all three children were dressed as if they were going to church and Olivia was wearing a green dress the exact shade of her eyes. Before the door was fully open, Carmella held out a huge bouquet of peonies. “For you.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Olivia gushed, “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  With a smile stretched clear across his face, Sidney stood there balancing a stack of giftwrapped boxes. “We’ve also got a few things for the kids.”

  “A few things?” Olivia exclaimed. “Why, it looks like Christmas!”

  Sidney gave a big, hearty chuckle, the kind of laugh that could make a person feel happy even if they had no idea what he was laughing about.

  Once they were seated in the living room, Olivia went in search of a vase large enough for the flowers. She pulled three vases from the kitchen cupboard, but not one was large enough. Surely one of her friends had a good-sized vase. Dialing one number after the other, Olivia first called Clara, then Agnes Shapiro, and finally Jen Hemmings. Not one of them was at home, which was not only annoying but also odd. Stuck with no other alternative Olivia put half of the flowers in one vase and the remainder in the other, then carried the two vases into the living room. By then the floor was covered with shredded bits of wrapping paper.

  “Grandma, look at this!” Ethan Allen held up a Dick Tracy Junior Detective Kit. “It’s got a decoder ring!”

  “I got a present too.” Jubilee cuddled a Betsy-Wetsy doll that drank and wet its diaper, something that apparently pleased Jubie no end.

  Paul, far more reserved than the other two, was wearing a baseball cap from the College of William and Mary.

  “There’s more to come,” Sidney said. In a little less than two weeks he’d gone from a nearly-dead man to a man so filled with life it almost burst out of him. In fact, Sidney’s happiness was so contagious that before two minutes had passed Olivia was laughing like a woman with not a care in the world.

  In addition to the gifts the children had already opened, there were comic books, paper dolls, and a book on the history of America for Paul.

  “All this,” Olivia said. “You really shouldn’t have. There’s no need—”

  “Of course there’s no need.” Sidney chuckled. “But not having to do something is what makes doing it fun.”

  “You’re going to spoil the children.” Olivia’s mouth curled into a smile that began to resemble Sidney’s.

  He laughed even harder.

  “There’s no way we could ever really make amends for all we put your family through,” Carmella said softly. “But we were hoping this would be a start.”

  Olivia assured them no harm was done, and now that Paul was free to go about life they were looking toward the future. She mentioned nothing about the need for a larger apartment. When the oven timer buzzed, she announced dinner was ready and led everyone to the table. Sidney sat next to Paul. Carmella sat alongside Jubilee.

  “I’m glad you like those paper dolls,” Carmella said. “I had ones just like them when I was a girl, and they were my favorite.” Carmella went on to tell how she created a world of flat paper furniture and voices for each of the paper people. Jubilee eyes glistened as she latched on to every word.

  “Would you show me how to make flat furniture?”

  “I sure will,” Carmella answered. Then she hugged the child to her chest. “As long as your grandma doesn’t think I’m making a pest out of myself coming here.”

  “Grandma don’t mind at all.” Jubilee looked for confirmation from Olivia, but by then Olivia had bustled to the kitchen to get the casserole.

  When she sat the oversized dish on the table she announced, “This is my favorite chicken noodle casserole. I hope you like it.” That’s when she noticed the apprehensive look on Carmella’s face.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Well,” Carmella said, “Sidney doesn’t really like chicken.”

  Sidney cut in with a loud chuckle. “I used to not like chicken,” he said and scooped a double-size portion onto his plate. He then turned and scooped a like amount onto Paul’s plate. “Eat up, son. You’re a growing boy!”

  When Olivia looked across at the two of them, she could swear Paul’s grin was starting to resemble Sidney’s.

  Olivia had doubled the recipe so she’d be sure to have enough, but when the conversation slowed and everyone stopped eating not a morsel of chicken noodle casserole was left in the dish. Sidney had not only polished off that first large helping, he’d gone back for seconds. Olivia smiled proudly as she cleared the dishes from the table.

  “I’ll start coffee and get dessert,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

  With a number of conversations going back and forth and laughter rolling out with the words, Olivia didn’t hear the knock on the door.

  Et
han Allen did.

  He scooted from his chair and opened the door. Anita was standing there, looking ragged and red-eyed. “Uh oh,” he muttered, then yelled, “Grandma, you better get out here!”

  The alarm in Ethan’s voice sent Olivia scurrying from the kitchen. Still wiping her hands on a dish towel, she crossed over to the open door. Upon seeing Anita’s face she turned to Ethan. “Where on earth are you manners?” she asked. She then turned back to Anita. “I apologize for my grandson’s manners. Please come in.”

  Anita followed Olivia into the living room. When she glanced across and saw the people crowded around the table, she gave a rather pitiful sigh. “I’m sorry if I’ve come at a bad time but there’s something I’ve got to get off my chest, and it can’t wait any longer.”

  Olivia grew nervous as to what Anita might have to say. If she was ready to let go of the kids, she’d be smiling. It would be a burden lifted from her shoulders, two less things to tie her down and keep her from the life she was living. Olivia’s thoughts flashed back to the memory of Jubilee crying because she didn’t want to live with Aunt Anita.

  Not ready to hear Anita had decided to reclaim the children, Olivia sputtered something about how decisions should never be made on an empty stomach. “We were just about to have cake and coffee. Please join us.”

  Anita glanced at the crowd warily. “I don’t know. What I’ve got to say is rather personal.”

  Sidney stood and walked over to Anita. “We’re almost family,” he said and clamped a well-intentioned arm around her shoulder. “So come on over here and get yourself a piece of cake.” He looped his arm through Anita’s and pulled her to the table.

  Although she allowed herself to be moved along, Anita did not look happy. She had the pained expression of a woman with kidney stones.

  Anita sat and Olivia introduced her by name, saying only that she was the children’s aunt. Olivia said nothing about the fact that she was also their only living relative.

  Sidney, having positioned Anita on the other side of himself, turned to her, “Sidney Klaussner, the lucky dog who’s still alive because of your nephew.” Motioning toward Carmella, he added, “And this here’s my wife, Carmella.”

  “Pleased,” Anita said and gave a slight nod.

  At that point Olivia stood and said she was going to get the coffee. Halfway to the kitchen she heard Carmella’s voice saying how she envied Anita for being able to spend time with such wonderful children.

  “Spend what time?” Anita replied. “I haven’t spent day one with these kids!”

  Olivia turned around and headed back to the table. “Coffee is still brewing,” she said and sat back down. In an effort to change the subject, she turned to Anita and said, “I hope you like chocolate cake.”

  “Chocolate’s fine,” Anita answered.

  “Why would you not spend time with these children?” Carmella asked accusingly. “They’re wonderful children, some of the nicest I’ve ever met!”

  “There’s good reason for me not seeing the children,” Anita said coldly.

  “There can be no reason,” Carmella argued. “Children grow up so quickly, you’ve got to grab every precious moment you can with them. Shame on you, ignoring these kids!”

  Olivia wanted to reach across and stuff a napkin in Carmella’s mouth to shut her up, but doing it would have only increased the tension bouncing back and forth across the table. With her eyes fixed on Carmella, she said, “I have some wonderful oatmeal raisin cookies if you’d prefer not to have chocolate cake.”

  “Chocolate’s fine,” Carmella replied, then went back to Anita. “Looks like you’d be thanking the Lord for these three wonderful kids instead of making excuses for—”

  “Wait a minute,” Anita interrupted. “First off, I ain’t even related to that one!” She pointed a finger at Ethan.

  He grinned and nodded. “She ain’t. I ain’t even blood related to Grandma, but she took me in anyway.”

  A look of confusion spread rapidly across Carmella’s face, and a lead weight had suddenly settled in Olivia’s stomach.

  Carmella looked at Olivia. “But aren’t you grandmother to all three?”

  “Not exactly,” Olivia said. She explained that Ethan Allen was related to her late husband, and she was simply caring for the other two children because they didn’t have anyone else.

  “But they do have someone else!” Carmella argued. “They have an aunt who is right here at this table. You yourself said she was their aunt!”

  “So I did,” Olivia said. “So I did.”

  The Meeting

  Jim Turner banged his gavel against the podium for the third time, and he did it with such ferocity that the chattering crowd stilled. It was the largest turnout the building association had ever seen. Every resident was in attendance, with the lone exception of Olivia Doyle. Olivia was missing because no one had told her of the meeting; in fact, they went out of their way to keep her from knowing of it.

  The crowd began filtering in at five-thirty, and by six o’clock the room was filled with residents standing shoulder to shoulder and pressed against the back wall.

  Jim Turner had already sensed a wave of rebellion wafting through the room, and he was determined to squash it right from the start. “This meeting will come to order!” he shouted. “Or there will be no meeting!”

  “That’s what you think!” a voice in the rear of the room yelled back.

  “Quiet!” Turner angrily slammed his gavel down again. “The bylaws of this building specifically state that all association meetings will be chaired by the president and conducted in an orderly fashion!”

  “We’re sick of your bylaws!” Cathy Contino shouted.

  “Quiet!”

  “We’ve been quiet long enough!” Seth Porter yelled. “It’s high time we said something!”

  “Yeah,” a chorus of voices echoed. “We been quiet long enough!”

  Anticipating just such a reaction, Clara smiled. She’d carried a wooden milk crate to the meeting and while an angry undertone still circled the room, she stepped onto the crate and gave a loud two-finger whistle.

  The murmuring stopped and everyone turned to look at Clara who now stood a head taller than anyone else in the room. Trying to give her message an air of propriety she said, “I would like to make a motion that we impeach Jim Turner.”

  Before she could say anything else, Fred Wiskowski yelled, “I say we just kick his ass out of office!”

  Cindy Hamilton leaned over and whispered in Fred’s ear, “That’s what impeach means.”

  “Well, then, they ought to come right out and say it.”

  Clara gave another whistle. “Having bylaws means we’re regulated. It means we’ve got no choice in what we do! Is that what we want?”

  A chorus of voices yelled, “Hell, no!”

  “You’re out of order!” Turner yelled and banged the gavel so hard the head flew off and went rolling across the floor.

  Everybody applauded the broken gavel.

  After three bounces, the gavel rolled to a stop in front of Linda Foust. She picked it up and dropped it into the waste basket.

  There was another round of applause.

  Without the gavel Jim Turner was helpless. Several times he tried yelling “Quiet!” but when his throat began to close up, there was little more he could do. He finally said, “I relinquish the floor to Clara Bowman,” and sat down.

  It was a good ten minutes before the wolf whistles and cheering subsided and the room grew silent enough for Clara to speak.

  “We’ve become a bunch of old fuddy duddies,” she said. “We’ve closed our minds to new ideas and look down our noses at anyone who dares to bring a bit of fun and laughter to this building. I say it’s time to change that!”

  Several “Woohoo’s” came from the back of the room, followed by another round of applause.

  Clara continued. “It was against the bylaws when Ethan Allen came to live here, but we all agreed he was a welcome addit
ion.”

  Turner gave a sideways glance of disagreement.

  “Okay,” Clara amended, “we almost all agreed.” She looked at Beth Lillis. “Beth, when your arthritis was acting up, who did your errands?”

  “Ethan Allen.” Beth smiled.

  “Tom,” Clara said, pointing her finger, “who carted all that stuff to the storage bin when you had your apartment painted?”

  He nodded. “Ethan Allen.”

  Clara then called on Frank Casper, Wayne Dolby, Barbara Harris, and Jeanine Elizalde. Every one of them had the same kind of story. Ethan Allen had helped out, he’d run errands, fetched medications, carried laundry up from the basement.

  “Has the child ever done one thing that makes this building a less lovely place to live?”

  A murmur of no’s floated through the room.

  “Well,” Eloise Fromm said, “he does from time to time push all the buttons in the elevator and keep riding up and down.”

  When a crowd of angry faces glared at her, Eloise added, “But that’s certainly not much to complain about.”

  “Let’s face it,” Clara said, “these bylaws are outdated, obsolete, of no use whatsoever.”

  Several heads nodded as she spoke.

  “All they do is tell us what we can’t do. Those bylaws say we can’t bring grocery carts through the front lobby, we can’t paint our door a different color, we can’t do this, and we can’t do that. The bylaws even tell us we can’t park anywhere but in our assigned spots.”

  “Yeah,” Agnes Shapiro shouted, “and Jim Turner took the best spot himself!”

  Turner stood up. “I have that parking spot because I’m the president of the association!”

  “Well, we can change that!” Seth Porter yelled. He then insisted they have an immediate vote to impeach Jim Turner.

  Clara, who by now had pretty much taken over the meeting, said, “All in favor of removing Jim Turner as the association president, raise your hand.”

  There were two or three on the far side of the room who stood without moving, but most everyone else raised their hand. A few people raised two hands. When Clara did a count, the number of hands exceeded the number of residents, so she gave another whistle and declared the motion had passed unanimously.