One Shining Moment

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Take care of him?”

  “Yes.” Adam squirmed, and she set him down. As he ran down the slope whooping at the top of his lungs, she explained. “I work, and I have no husband. I’ve been trying to hire a nanny for weeks now.”

  “A nanny?”

  “That’s what the English people call a woman who cares for children.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Bonnie said thoughtfully. “I’d be good at it, though.”

  A thought leaped into Lylah’s mind, and she asked impulsively, “I don’t suppose you’d consider being a housekeeper and nanny for Adam and me?” Even as she spoke her mind was saying, She’s too young, and she’s had no training—

  A thoughtful light touched the dark blue eyes, and the answer was slow. “I never worked for anyone. But I could keep a boy like Adam. And I’m a good housekeeper.”

  Lylah asked cautiously, “Do you live with your family, Bonnie? They might not want you to work for an actress—some people don’t like them.”

  Bonnie’s eyes opened wide, and then she laughed aloud. “I live with my brother—but he’s gone most of the time. He wouldn’t care, though.” She looked at Adam who was throwing stones at the dignified pink flamingos and then said thoughtfully, “I get lonesome sometimes. Do you think I could do it?”

  Lylah took a deep breath, then nodded. “I don’t know if you can cook—but you can play with Adam. My name is Lylah Stuart. Why don’t you come along with me, to my house. We can talk about it. Then both of us can make up our minds.”

  “All right.”

  By the time Bonnie left the house, Lylah knew the girl was capable. The two had talked long, and Bonnie had made cheese omelets for them all—a dish that Lylah had never mastered. Adam had clung to Bonnie’s hand much of the time, and Lylah observed that the girl knew how to be firm with the child.

  “Let’s try it for a few days, Bonnie,” she said finally. “If at the end of the week you want to leave, that’s fine.”

  “And if I don’t suit you, you can fire me,” Bonnie smiled. “Do you want me to come in the morning?”

  “We have an extra bedroom,” Lylah said. “Why don’t you come and stay with us for the trial period. That way we can see the worst of each other.”

  Bonnie studied the face of the older woman, then said simply, “I don’t think you have a worst side—and I know Adam hasn’t!”

  “That’s what you think—but I’m glad you think so.”

  After Bonnie left, promising to be back at seven the next day, Lylah put Adam to bed.

  “She coming back?” he asked sleepily. “She’s nice!”

  “Yes, she’ll come back.” Lylah tucked him in and kissed him on the cheek. “And I hope she’ll stay!”

  “Me, too!” The two words were mumbled, and as Lylah looked down on him, she thought again of the man who had fathered him—and tears came to her eyes as she turned away.

  “I’VE GOT TO DO IT!”

  My mother would have cut a peach tree switch to any of her daughters who went out in public dressed like that!” Amos Stuart and his wife, Rose, had gone out for a rare evening on the town. They decided on impulse to treat themselves to a dinner at an expensive restaurant. But they had no sooner been seated in the restaurant of the Biltmore Hotel than they had been shocked by the dress of the young women in the room.

  Rose, who kept up with fashions more than her husband, took in the dancers on the floor and frowned. “I’d heard about how bad this sort of thing was getting, but I didn’t know it was so . . . so raw!”

  The women on the floor were a part of what would be known as “flaming youth.” They were part of a revolt that exploded after the end of the Great War. Before the turn of the century there was a “code,” unwritten, but commonly agreed on by conservatives all over the country. Roughly, it held that women were the guardians of morality, made of finer stuff than men. They were to remain pure and innocent until the right man came along, allowing no male to kiss them. It was assumed that no decent young woman would smoke. And as for drinking, that was unthinkable!

  But now as Amos and Rose stared at the young women in the room, they saw that the code was no longer in effect. The dresses that the women were wearing were all of nine inches above the ground, were made of thin material, and in some cases were sleeveless. Most of the young women had rolled their stockings below the knee, and the spectators were treated to glimpses of shinbones and kneecaps. When they were not dancing, the “flappers,” as they were already being called, wore rouge liberally applied to their faces, and most of them were smoking as they talked.

  “What have they done to their hair?” Amos demanded.

  “I think they’ve ‘shingled’ it,” Rose said. “Some women even go to men’s barber shops to get their hair cut. Looks frightful, doesn’t it?”

  Amos made a close inspection of the men and growled, “Look at the hair on those fellows! Black and slicked down with brilliantine—all parted in the middle.”

  “They got that from that movie star Rudolph Valentino,” Rose informed him. She was appalled by the sight, but a gleam of humor that she could never suppress for long surfaced as she murmured, “If a fly lit on a slick head like that, he’d slip and break his neck.”

  “Look at that girl,” Amos broke in. “Why, she’s got on enough makeup to be a clown in the circus!” He indicated a young woman who was no more than seventeen. She had shaved her eyebrows into pencil-thin lines, made her lips up into a pouting cupid’s bow, and outlined her eyes with dark eye makeup. “She needs a good whipping,” Amos said, shaking his head in disgust.

  The waiter appeared, and they ordered, but as they waited for their meal, both of them were disturbed. Amos toyed with the glass of water in front of him, watching the crowd with a puzzled look. “What’s happened to this country, Rose? Before the war, no decent girl would let herself be seen cavorting like those out there. There ought to be laws to stop them!”

  “That’s been tried, don’t you remember, dear?” Rose shook her head and looked away from the dancers, adding, “A bill passed the Virginia legislature that forbade any woman from wearing shirtwaists or evening gowns that displayed more than three inches of her throat, and Ohio went even further. They made it illegal to sell any garment that displays or accentuates the lines of the female figure. But passing laws won’t change this, will it?”

  “No, it goes deeper than I’d thought. And we’ve already begun to see that prohibition won’t keep people from drinking.”

  They ate their dinner with some distaste, for they saw many instances of drinking that violated the law. Many men pulled flasks from their inside pockets and offered them to their female companions—who drank readily enough. Amos said moodily, “The big thing in men’s fashions now is to have a pocket to conceal a bottle of booze. And some men are starting to wear Russian boots because they can stuff several flasks of liquor inside.”

  They finished their meal and left the restaurant feeling depressed. When they arrived at their home, they found that Maury, their eighteen-year-old, had left a note that said,

  I just wanted to remind you that you said I could stay with Sally Stevens tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.

  Amos stared at the brief message, then grimaced. “I guess we’re lucky to have a daughter who’s thoughtful enough to leave us a note.”

  “Maury’s very responsible, Amos.” Rose took off her coat, then said, “Let’s sit and talk.”

  “All right—and next time let’s go to a better restaurant.”

  “I think they’re all about the same.”

  Rose made coffee, and when she took the tray into the room, she found Amos fiddling with the new wireless set. He had gotten it to listen to the returns of the presidential election between Harding and Cox, but they had scarcely been able to make out the words of the announcer who was broadcasting such a thing for the first time. Now the sound of music filled the room, but it was so distorted and scratchy that Amos turned the machine off in disg
ust.

  “That thing will never work,” he said moodily. “They’re supposed to broadcast the championship bout between Jack Dempsey and this French boxer, Carpentier, but that won’t work either.”

  “Jerry says it will work,” Rose murmured, pouring coffee into his cup. “He’s very interested in things like that. I think he could be an engineer.”

  “Well, he didn’t get that sort of thing from me. I guess he got his brains and his good looks from you, Rose.”

  “He’s very much like you, Amos.”

  “Jerry? Why, Rose, we’re nothing alike! We can’t be in the same room for ten minutes without an argument.”

  Rose sipped her coffee and regarded Amos over the cup. He was still trim and athletic at the age of forty-one, with the same ash-blond hair and dark blue eyes that had attracted her when they first met. They had been poor, but their courtship had been very romantic. Rose had fallen into disgrace, and only the ministry of the Salvation Army had brought her out of it. She had gone as a mission volunteer to China, and when the Boxer Rebellion had broken out, Amos had been trapped there with her. It had taken a miracle to get them out of China alive, but when they returned, they had married. Amos had become a highly respected newspaperman, the star reporter for William Randolph Hearst, owner of the most powerful newspaper in the country, the New York Journal.

  Their marriage had been blissful, and their two children were becoming fine adults. But whereas Maury seemed to accept her parents’ way of life, Jerry had been a problem ever since he was old enough to say “No!” For some reason that neither Amos nor Rose could ever fathom, he had a built-in “no” that seemed to fly from his lips as soon as any command or request came from his parents.

  This surfaced when he was a mere baby, and at first it was only a minor thing. But when he was two years old, he threw a fit in a restaurant that made Amos and Rose realize that he had a serious problem. It occurred when they sat down to eat, and Rose attempted to put a bib on Jerry. He immediately said, “No bip!” Rose had cajoled him, saying, “Now, Jerry, you don’t want to get your food all over your nice new sailor suit, do you?” But a mulish look appeared on the youthful lips, and he said louder, “No bip!” Rose had attempted to put the bib on by force but a major war had ensued. Amos had joined in and by brute force had held the child while Rose struggled to get the bib in place—and all the while Jerry was shouting at the top of his lungs, “No bip! No bip!” He had won the battle, for his parents were so embarrassed by his display of rebellion they left the restaurant without eating.

  As the two sat drinking coffee, Amos thought of that scene and said, “Remember when Jerry threw that fit over his bib? He must not have been over two years old.” He turned the coffee cup slowly in his hand, thinking of the many struggles that he had endured with his son since that time, and finally gave Rose an odd look. “I don’t know where he gets it from, Rose. We Stuarts are a pretty stubborn bunch, but Jerry is downright rebellious.”

  “From me, I suppose.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Amos said, reaching over and pulling her close. “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever known.” He kissed her cheek, then repeated an old joke. “I got the pick of the litter when I got you!”

  Rose took his hand, kissed it, then smiled. “I was the litter, if you’ll remember.”

  The two of them sat close together, speaking quietly for some time, but Amos was still troubled over Jerry. “I’m going to take Jerry with me next week when I go home to see Pa. Why don’t you come, too?”

  “Oh, I’d love to—but I agreed to be a sponsor for the missions conference at church. Anyway, it’ll be good for just the two of you to have some time. Maury and I can enjoy some girl time with you men gone.”

  Amos nodded absently, then grinned wryly. “Maybe I ought to tell him he can’t go with me—that way he’d be sure to go. If I tell him he’s got to go with me, he’ll probably start bellowing ‘No trip! No trip!’”

  “I don’t think so, dear,” Rose said slowly. “He really admires you, but there’s something in him that makes him dissatisfied. He just can’t seem to find his way.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll be able to talk it out. He did so poorly at college, I think he’s determined not to go back. Hate to see him do something foolish,” Amos said, “like joining the Foreign Legion.”

  “He won’t do that,” Rose laughed. “He’d have to obey too many orders. If they told him to march across the desert, I hardly think he’d get out of it by screaming, ‘No march! No march!’”

  Amos was pleasantly surprised by the easy camaraderie he and his son enjoyed on the train that took them from New York to Fort Smith. Jerry had accepted his invitation instantly, and the two of them had passed the hours of their journey talking and reading. Jerry had not been to the old home place for six years, but he still had good memories of the time he’d spent there.

  When they got off the train at Fort Smith, he insisted on a quick visit to the gallows where Judge Isaac Parker had stretched the necks of almost a hundred desperadoes harvested from Indian Territory. As the two stood looking up at the gallows with five ropes swaying in the breeze, Amos smiled at a memory that came to him.

  “When I was just a kid, we used to come to town about once a month. We never had any money to spend, so we used to come and visit the gallows. When I got mad at Owen or Lylah, I’d say, ‘I hope you hang on Judge Parker’s gallows!’”

  “Don’t guess any of you will be hanged.” Jerry smiled at his father, adding, “Guess I’ll be the one to do that. The rest of you are so respectable you won’t eat an egg laid on Sunday.”

  Amos laughed aloud, amused by the wit that lay under Jerry’s demeanor. He slapped the broad shoulder of his son, saying, “You got that right. You’re so cantankerous, if I threw you in the river, you’d float upstream! Come on, let’s see if we can rent some kind of a car.”

  After a brief search, Amos found that a car could be rented from the local blacksmith. Jerry loved engines of all sorts and had a long talk with the burly man, whose name was Ty Stone. He had been a blacksmith in the same location for years, and he remembered Amos instantly. While Amos was giving him the deposit, he said, “Been reading them stories you write for the paper, Amos. Never would have thought the little feller who used to come and watch me shoe hosses would wind up a New York big shot!”

  Amos smiled at the statement, then shook his head. “I’m no big shot, Ty. Just a plug of a newspaperman. Have you seen any of my family lately?”

  “Shore, Amos. Your pa was in town last week. He brung your sister by. Her wheelchair got some kind of wallop that warped the wheel, so I fixed it fer her.”

  “How’d she seem to you?”

  Stone wiped his balding head with a red handkerchief, then shook his head in wonder. “That gal’s got more nerve than a bluetick hound, I tell you! Most young gals her age would have give up, but not Lenora Stuart! You heard about what she done with the young’uns up in the mountains?”

  “No, what was that?”

  “Why, she organized some kind of church school fer ’em. When crops was laid by, she had every shirttail young’un in Stone County comin’ to the thing. Whole county was talkin’ about it!”

  “What sort of school?” Jerry inquired with interest.

  “Sort of a Sunday school, but it lasted a month, and she got everybody involved. I reckon Reverend Satterfield got word around, and he helped teach the Bible to the kids—my grandkids went, and they can’t stop talking about Sister Lenora. They both got saved, and so did about fifty others. Had a big baptizin’ in the river, and the preacher’s arm got sore from dippin’ so many—and some of the parents got saved on the last night.”

  “I knew Lenora was doing some work with the poor kids, but she never told me about all this,” Amos said.

  “She’s a daisy, Amos!” Ty Stone beamed, slapping one big fist into his palm. Then he asked, “Reckon you’re going to Gavin’s air circus ?”

  “Sure, that’s one reason
I picked this time to come.”

  When they were on their way down the road that wound around toward the east, Jerry said, “I didn’t know Uncle Gavin’s show would be here.” He was driving the car skillfully. He asked rather hesitantly, “Do you think he’d take me up for a ride?”

  “I’ll use my influence,” Amos grinned. “But you couldn’t get me in one of those things—not in a million years. If God had intended man to fly, he’d have given him wings!”

  “Aw, Dad, that’s not right!” Jerry protested. “If you really believed that, you’d say if God intended for man to ride in a car, he’d have given him wheels!”

  The two argued for a time, but it was a playful banter with no angry words. They enjoyed the crisp November air, and once a small herd of deer were startled as they rounded a turn. Both men watched as the deer seemed to float in long jumps, clearing a rail fence, and disappearing into the dense first-growth timber that lined the dirt road.

  They pulled up in front of the house just at noon and were greeted by Lenora and Christie, who were out of the house by the time the car stopped. Amos was watching as Lenora steered her wheelchair down a ramp that sloped from the porch to the ground, and it was to her he went first. Stooping over he put his arms around her and held her close. “How’s my girl?” he whispered, aware of a tightness in his throat.

  “Finer than peach fuzz!” Lenora laughed. She drew back, and Amos saw that she was tanned and fit. She was wearing a powder blue dress, and he noted that her arms were hard and swelled with muscle from pushing the chair. There was a peace in her face as she said, “Come on inside. Pa’s gone hunting, but Christie and me will fix up something to eat.”

  Jerry felt awkward for a time, not knowing how to act toward a handicapped woman. But after the dinner, he went to the room that he was to share with Amos. “I don’t see how she can be so happy, Dad,” he said slowly. “She was always so active, wasn’t she? I think I’d just give up if I had to live with something like that.”