As You Wish

by Jude Deveraux

  “You two are going to die of gas inhalation. Get that window open! Did you turn the chicken? Why haven’t you finished those potatoes?” She threw open the refrigerator door.

  “Where are the lemons I bought yesterday?”

  “Ace—” Uncle Freddy began.

  Olivia put up her hand. “Don’t tell me. Something to do with space demons.” She looked at Mr. Gates. “This afternoon I’m going to give you a list and you’re going to the grocery.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Gates said in exaggerated meekness.

  “Cut it out!” she snapped, and in a flurry of energy, she went back to work.

  It was nearly an hour before she covered the old table with a feast: fried chicken, sliced tomatoes, sautéed zucchini and onions, mashed potatoes, carrots simmered in orange juice. Thanks to an instant vanilla mix, she’d even managed to make a bowl of banana pudding. She told Uncle Freddy to call them in.

  The children, with shiny clean faces, came into the kitchen with a look of wonder. The smells, the heat, the abundance dazzled them.

  Behind them, wearing a blue cotton shirt and full khaki trousers, his hair still damp, was the young man. He had his head down, as though asking permission to enter.

  The kids jumped onto the bench and reached for the platter of chicken, but Mr. Gates’s look stopped them. “You know we always ask the blessing first.”

  Ace started to say something to that, but Uncle Freddy’s glare made him close his mouth.

  “Kit,” Uncle Freddy said as he motioned to a chair, “did you meet Olivia?” Kit took the seat, but as before, he just nodded and didn’t speak.

  After the blessing, Olivia finished putting things on the table and sat down with them.

  She was seated across from the boy and she couldn’t help sneaking glances. Up close, he was extraordinary. He hadn’t shaved so there was whisker stubble on his cheeks and upper lip. His hair was longer than the men she knew, but—She corrected herself. It was longer than the high school boys she saw around town. Was he an afficionado of the Beatles?

  She took a small piece of chicken—shades of Scarlett O’Hara, but she didn’t want to eat like a field hand in front of him.

  The adults were quiet as Letty and Ace told about their latest battle against demons. According to them, this was the third army that had chosen Summer Hill, Virginia, to start their war on the world. Yet again, Mr. Gates told them to stay out of the Tattington cemetery. As he nearly always did, he said how he was going to clean up the place very soon.

  When everyone stopped talking, Olivia looked up. The two men and the children were looking at the tall boy, whose head was bent over his plate. He had a healthy appetite!

  At first, Olivia didn’t know what they were waiting for, but he looked up at Mr. Gates and gave a silent nod. He seemed to be saying that yes, he would take care of the cemetery.

  Olivia couldn’t help frowning. Did the boy know how to talk? She could understand that he was shy. After all, he hadn’t lived long enough to learn too much about the world, but even so, he should make an effort to try to speak in the company of adults.

  When he silently looked back down at his plate, Olivia had a surge of feeling, well, something like being a missionary. She’d help this shy young man get over his fear of strangers. Help him learn how to act like a grown-up man. She’d—

  He lifted his head. For the first time, he looked directly into her eyes.

  What she saw was far away from being shy. She saw heat; she saw fire. He gave her a look like other men had tried to, but couldn’t quite pull off.

  His look was not that of a boy. His eyes were that of a man, full grown, and—She took a breath. Experienced. This was no fumbling virgin of a boy who Olivia was going to teach anything.

  HE KNOWS, she thought. Damn him to hell and back but he knows.

  For a full minute, a film played in her mind. Him mostly naked. Had he done that because he knew a young woman was nearby and probably watching? Ace had “helped” Mr. Gates when Kit arrived in the wee hours. Olivia wouldn’t put it past the child to open her bedroom door and show her off to the newcomer. Sort of like exhibiting a prize pig.

  Even if he hadn’t seen her, Ace would have told about Livie being there. The child had often said that she looked like a movie star.

  So this boy, Kit, had peeled off his clothes to show her the goods on offer—and Olivia had fallen for it. As she remembered how she’d acted, she could feel blood rise to her face.

  She’d very nearly performed Swan Lake in the tomato patch. She’d almost done a Grand Jeté over the three-foot-wide squash plant.

  And he’d seen it all. Worse was that he’d known it was for him. For his viewing pleasure.

  She leaned back in her chair and glared at the top of his head. “Livie?” Uncle Freddy asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She didn’t take her eyes off Kit’s bent head. She’d always thought of herself as an actress but today she’d failed. How had she not immediately realized that a tall kid who looked like him would know all about women? Back in Maine, he probably had a dozen girlfriends. All of them, no doubt, wearing flannel and rubber boots. And Yankee that he was, he probably thought Southern girls were easy.

  She was sure he knew she was looking at him. Letty was asking how they could make shields to protect themselves from the latest invasion of outer space monsters.

  Mr. Gates looked at Livie. “You know how to make a shield?”

  Olivia didn’t answer. Instead, when the young man set his glass of iced tea down, she moved the big platter of chicken just enough that the glass tipped over. The others didn’t see what she’d done, so it looked like Kit had spilled his tea.

  “It wasn’t me!” Ace yelled.

  Kit looked at Olivia. This time his eyes didn’t have that know-everything look. He seemed to be puzzled, as though asking her why she’d done that.

  Everyone was looking at Olivia. She was the one who usually jumped up and got a cloth to mop up spills. But she just sat there, her eyes on Kit. “I don’t wait on worthless boys,” she said with all the insouciance she could muster.

  For a moment, everyone froze, stunned by Livie’s rudeness. The tea ran off the side of the table and dripped onto the floor. Slowly, acting like he was ancient, Mr. Gates started to get up to get a cloth.

  But Kit unfolded his long body, got a towel off the rack, and wiped up the spill.

  The whole episode had shocked the children into silence. Again, they expected to be sent away.

  After Kit cleaned up the table and the floor, he neatly folded the towel and left the house, the door closing softly behind him.

  The others turned to Livie as though asking for an explanation.

  But she didn’t give one. She stood up and cheerfully said, “Is everyone finished?” She smiled sweetly at the children. “After lunch, why don’t we go out to the big magnolia tree and I’ll make you a couple of shields? Anybody want some banana pudding?”

  Letty and Ace stared at her, eyes wide, barely able to nod yes to all of it.

  Mr. Gates looked across the table at Uncle Freddy. Both of them had twinkling eyes. They’d lived in the same house for many years and they knew what the other was thinking. This was a time for extortion.

  “That boy sure can work,” Mr. Gates said.

  “Best worker I ever saw,” Uncle Freddy said. “I’ll bet he has the cemetery spic and span by nightfall.”

  Livie, a bowl of pudding in her hands, looked at them. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. What was their point?

  Mr. Gates smiled at her. “So, Livie, what kind of soup are we having for supper tonight? Maybe I should go into Richmond to a restaurant supply store and buy cans of Campbell’s by the case.”

  Olivia’s lips tightened.

  “No need to do that,” Uncle Freddy said, his voi
ce exaggeratedly loud. “Olivia is going to go work in a dress shop.”

  “No!” Letty yelled. “Who’ll make our shields?”

  When Ace’s lower lip began to quiver, Olivia was reminded of what the child was about to face. He knew his mother was very ill and—

  Olivia’s face looked stormy. She was not a cook. She was a woman with a great career ahead of her. She wasn’t one of those earth mothers who naturally enveloped children. She wasn’t—

  She let out her breath and glared at Uncle Freddy. “You’re going to pay someone else to clean this house. I’m not going to do it. And there’s too much laundry for me to do.” She turned to Mr. Gates. “You are in charge of errands.”

  The two old men nodded. A bargain had been struck. “What do we do, Livie?” Ace asked.

  “Eggs. And no more rolling them down a ramp. And you’re going to help me clean up that garden.”

  “And get tiger plants?” Ace asked.

  It took her a moment to figure that one out. Zucchini equals zoo equals tiger. “Right. Tiger plants.” She went to the back door. “The four of you can clean this up. I have to go see Nina.”

  “My mom?” Letty looked worried. “I didn’t break that lamp. It just fell. I was a million feet away from it. In the garage.”

  Olivia shook her head. “I’ll deal with that later. Your mother has a cookbook I want to borrow.” She looked at the men. “Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” She left the house.

  “What’s that?” Letty asked.

  “Heaven,” Mr. Gates said. “Pure heaven on earth. Who wants some banana pudding?”

  “Boeuf Bourguignon,” Uncle Freddy whispered as though it was a sacred phrase. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Paris?”

  Mr. Gates had heard the story dozens of times, but he said no, that he’d missed that one.

  Each of them was smiling as they finished their second lunch and listened to Uncle Freddy’s story of a meal he’d had in Paris when he was a young man. They were all glad Livie was staying. For all that she complained and was often grumpy, there was something about the way she shot out orders that gave life to all of them. But best of all, she made things happen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Then what?” Kathy asked. “You can’t stop there.”

  Elise leaned forward. “Why was he running around in so little clothing?”

  Olivia stood up. “That is a whole other story. Anyone want some more wine? How about ice cream?”

  The women followed her into the kitchen.

  “You said Kit has lived all over the world and now he’s in government service,” Kathy said. “My guess is that’s the reason he was there. He was planning to go on his first mission, wasn’t he?”

  “You’re right,” Olivia said, “but he would have died before telling anyone that. Country was first to him. I just thought he was an exhibitionist. And a predator and a—” She waved her hand. “Everything bad.”

  “You hated him but were fascinated by him,” Kathy said.

  Olivia scooped ice cream into bowls. “That’s exactly what I was. And after I heard him speak, I was even more angry.”

  Kathy and Elise waited for her to continue.

  “You ever hear a voice that sent chills down your spine? Made your hair stand on end? Revved up your heart so it was pounding?” Olivia asked.

  Elise grimaced. “Does my dad yelling at me when I was six and broke a Tiffany vase count?”

  “Definitely not.” Olivia turned to Kathy.

  “Don’t look at me! Ray’s voice makes me wonder what else he wants me to do.”

  Olivia paused as she thought about what Kathy had said. According to Ray, his wife lived for him. But Kathy complained about the lack of passion. “Did Ray—?”

  “Go on with your story,” Elise said. “You were borrowing a cookbook and making shields.”

  “Not just ‘a cookbook,’” Kathy said. “The cookbook.”

  “Right,” Olivia said. “Me, who didn’t know how to make a meat loaf, was saying I was going to cook French cuisine. Of course, I wasn’t really thinking about doing that. I was just so angry at the smirks of those old men that I would have said anything to make them shut up.

  “And him! That boy! I was already sick of hearing how fabulous he was. I just wanted to be better than he was. At anything.”

  “So what did you do?” Kathy asked.

  “Nearly killed myself—and him.” Olivia gave a little laugh. “Kit and I had three weeks of a competition that should go down in history as the roughest, toughest...” She grinned. “The very stupidest war there ever was.”

  “Okay,” Elise said, “start at the beginning. Did the cookbook or the magnolia tree come first?”

  Olivia took a bite of mocha ice cream. “First came the shields. I am embarrassed to admit that in the time I’d been there I’d been so angry that I’d ignored the children. But back then you just shooed kids outside and let them entertain themselves. Parents didn’t need to supervise every second of their kids’ lives.”

  “But you’d seen Kit playing with them,” Kathy said.

  “Yes, and I was quite jealous. Anyway, I took a big cardboard box, some shears, string, tape, and foil out under the tree. The kids trailed behind me like baby ducks. It didn’t occur to me that I was doing everything outside so that worthless boy could see what I was doing.”

  She paused. “It took me a couple of hours to make the two worst shields ever created. They were flimsy and the string handles I taped on the back came off, and the foil tore. The kids were nice about it, but they knew the shields were awful.”

  “What did Kit do?” Kathy had a hint of disgust in her voice. “If it had been Ray, he would have shown up with some hand-crafted masterpiece just so he could win.”

  “That’s sort of what happened.” Olivia was looking at Kathy in speculation. “I was trying to tape some tree branches onto the back of the shields to make them stronger, when he pulled up on the tractor.”

  “The modern equivalent of the charging horse,” Elise said. “My personal fantasy.”

  “I didn’t know it but that morning the children had asked him to make shields for them. He’d already glued up three sheets of heavy cardboard. After lunch, he used the old band saw to cut out shield shapes.”

  “Is that fair? You didn’t have any tools,” Kathy said.

  “That’s what I thought too. On the back he’d bolted two wooden handles, but vertical. Beside them he’d used shoelaces to tie on wide pieces of leather.”

  “Ah.” Kathy nodded. “So they could slip their forearms through.”

  “Yes,” Olivia said. “They were truly magnificent shields and the children were awed by them—and by Kit. They flung themselves at him and he held both of them.” Olivia shook her head. “I was so jealous! My wimpy shields were on the ground, bent and already coming apart, while his were strong and—” She waved her hand.

  “What did Kit say?” Elise asked.

  “Nothing. The kids were hanging off of him and he looked at me as though he expected me to praise him. Thank him. But I wanted to smash him on the head with the shields. Or run the tractor over him. Instead, I said, ‘Go away.’”

  She looked at Kathy and Elise, who were waiting for her to go on. “Kit put the children down and said, ‘As you wish,’ then climbed back up on the tractor and drove away.”

  “Like in The Princess Bride,” Elise said with a sigh.

  “Only Kit said it before that movie came out.”

  “And his voice gave you chills,” Elise said.

  “How does the voice of your young gardening Adonis affect you?” Olivia asked.

  “Like hot champagne pouring over me,” Elise said, sighing. “He sounds even better in Spanish.”

  Olivia smiled. “Like when Kit speaks Arabic! But t
hat first time, Kit’s deep, gravelly voice sent an electrical charge through me.”

  “And that made you even more angry,” Kathy said.

  “Very much so. I genuinely and truly hated that worthless boy.”

  “Who was far from being a child,” Kathy said.

  “Right. I was the adult but he...he was outdoing me. His work was applauded while mine was ridiculed. The children adored him but they tolerated me. My shield was bad. His was perfect. In my mind, war had been declared. I had to prove that I was better than he was.”

  Kathy opened a bottle of wine. “What did you fight with? Cooking and what else?”

  “Everything. Anything.” Olivia closed her eyes for a moment. “For three weeks I nearly killed myself. Remember the movie about the woman who cooked everything in Julia Child’s book? I almost did it before she did. Duck a l’orange and coquilles Saint Jacques and Bavarian crème. I canned grape jam and marmalade and gallons of apple butter. I made huge pots of soupe au pistou and vichyssoise and froze them.”

  “I bet the old men loved that,” Kathy said.

  “They certainly did! Mr. Gates went to the grocery nearly every day. They began talking about food like they were writing critiques for the New York Times.”

  “And the children?” Elise asked.

  Olivia smiled. “Something I could do that Kit couldn’t was sew. I rummaged in the attic and found an old treadle machine and my mother cleaned out her fabric storage. I made the kids medieval-looking outfits to go with the shields Kit had made—which, by the way, I coated in silver paint. Thanks to lessons in set design, I put a blue dragon on Ace’s and a white unicorn on Letty’s. I got hugs and kisses for that one.”

  “What did Kit do?” Kathy asked.

  “Worked as hard as I did. Every day, Bill, Letty’s father, came by and told us what Kit was doing. He single-handedly cleared up the old cemetery. Bill told us how Kit lifted big marble headstones and reset them in concrete, and how he cleaned off the moss. And he repaired the old fence, then planted rosebushes around the whole place. Bill said that Kit had slithered on his belly through the wild blackberry vines to reach the old well house and repair the roof.”