Romancing Olive

by Bush, Holly

  “Mark’s awake,” Mary said as she came from behind the curtain dividing the kitchen from the beds.

  Jacob Butler rushed to the crib and Olive’s face reddened as she realized she had forgotten completely about the infant. The man picked up his son and crooned in the babe’s ear, but the child began to moan in an odd fashion.

  “Mark needs his diaper changed first thing in the morning. He has a rash,” Mr. Butler said.

  Olive watched Jacob Butler’s large tan hands unpin the sopping fabric. The child’s head seemed abnormally large for his body. Mark’s strange cries and inability to meet anyone’s eyes made her wonder if he was blind.

  “What is his condition?” Olive asked.

  “His diapers’ wet,” Mr. Butler replied as he wiped the baby’s behind.

  Olive sensed his reluctance but she could not still her tongue. “I know that, Mr. Butler. He seems to have some other problems as well,” she said quietly.

  Olive took an involuntary step back when she met Jacob Butler’s stare. His eyes were dark and glittering and when he spoke the tone made Olive flinch.

  “Mark is fine.”

  Olive swallowed, knowing she had tread on some sacred subject. “I have wash water on the stove. Leave his diaper off and I’ll bathe him.” She reached down to touch an angry looking rash on the child’s legs and privates. “Do you have any cornstarch?”

  “I don’t know. Look in the panty,” Mr. Butler said.

  “Mary would you begin to fry the bacon? Luke, John, come here and rinse your face and hands in this water. Good morning, Peg,” Olive said and returned from the pantry with a small cloth bag, marked, cornstarch.

  Olive had no idea why she had volunteered to bathe the infant. She had never done it before, never seen it done and was still flushed from seeing her first miniature view of a male’s privates. The keening wail, though, had touched Olive’s heart. Peg stood beside her at the crib, tousled and rubbing the night from her eyes.

  “Would you like to help?” Olive asked and looked down at the girl.

  Peg nodded and yawned and held the dry cloth, while Olive washed Mark with a warm rag. The infant’s head tossed back and forth and he seemed to be calming. Olive heard the sizzle of bacon hit the black, iron skillet. She made a paste of cornstarch and water as she had seen Theda do for her mother. The woman wore diapers that Theda and Olive had sewn but Theda confided that her mother had a constant rash. The babies cries subsided completely as Olive smeared the paste on the boy. He began to gurgle and drool and Peg looked up at her.

  “He’s happy now,” the little girl said.

  “How do you know?” Olive asked.

  Peg’s head tilted and her palms came up at her sides as her shoulders lifted in a shrug. Olive found a set of miniature one piece drawers and struggled to get the baby’s legs in the hole before an arm popped out of it’s spot. Peg giggled and Olive’s hair began to inch it’s way out of the pins.

  “Miss Wilkins?” the girl said.

  “Just a moment, Peg. Mark is making this a bit difficult,” Olive said.

  “Miss Wilkins?” she asked again.

  “One moment, Peg.”

  Olive was barely hanging on to her patience with Peg’s interruptions and Mark’s squirming, but as she held up the infant in triumph with the last button hooked, she turned to Peg. “Yes, dear?”

  “You forgetted his nappie.”

  Olive’s head snapped back to the dangling child as his union suit slowly became wet.

  Mary did a fine job with eggs and bacon, which Olive was thankful for since she had to begin again with Mark’s clothes. She instructed Luke and John to wipe the table and found six reasonably clean dishes. Jacob Butler tied Mark in the high chair and his children looked up at him expectantly.

  “Bless this food we are about to receive. Amen.”

  Olive raised her head and found Mary already eating and John picking up his egg with his hands. “Please wait until the blessing is complete to begin eating, Mary. John, use your fork, please.”

  Mary scowled at her and Olive watched Jacob Butler feed the infant the soft yoke of his egg. There was no bacon on his plate and as their eyes met, he challenged her with his stare. When he spoke Olive was not sure if he addressed her or the children.

  “I’m going to the Baxter’s farm to finish the plowing. I won’t be home until sunset. Will you watch Mark? He gets fussy out that long in the sun,” Mr. Butler asked.

  “Certainly,” Olive replied.

  “Get your shoes, Luke, Peg,” he commanded.

  “You’re taking them with you?” Olive asked.

  “Always did. Had to. I won’t ask you to watch my children,” he replied.

  “I had hoped they could stay here and help me with chores.”

  Olive could only imagine how difficult plowing was, let alone with Luke and Peg to watch. She had no intention of revealing her plan to make some new clothes for his family to this proud man. The children’s eyes swung back and forth, waiting for the verdict.

  Jacob Butler’s eyes darted and she knew he struggled accepting her help, even though she couched the idea into a plea for additional hands.

  “Fine. I probably won’t be as long if I don’t have the children to watch. Thank you,” he said.

  “I ain’t doing no chores,” Mary said.

  “Any chores, Mary. I am not doing any chores,” Olive said as she stood.

  “That’s what I said. I ain’t doing no chores.”

  Olive turned around quickly and the younger children’s mouths opened at the look on her face. “Let’s be perfectly clear, Mary. Everyone will help. That includes you.”

  Mary’s face was awash with defiance but Olive knew instinctively she must hold her ground. Mary needed love obviously, but guidance she was desperate for. The tension in the air was thick and Olive turned to the man heading out the door.

  “Wait, Mr. Butler. John didn’t finish his ham at the restaurant yesterday. Take it with you for your dinner.”

  * * *

  Jacob’s breath caught in his throat, as she handed him the bread with the ham between. How long had it been since someone, anyone, had thought of him? How long had it been since a woman handed him much needed food to break his hunger in the middle of the day. A year, Jacob thought. He hadn’t realized how sorely he missed the small give and take between man and wife that made grinding out his existence bearable.

  But this was not his petite, dark haired Margaret with a light laugh and strong hands. No, this woman didn’t have the heart shaped lips she had. Nor the full breasts he buried his face in when they made love. Jacob had loved Margaret since he was twelve years old and she him. He grabbed the wrapped food sternly, blaming this meddling woman for making him feel. Feel anything. That part of my life and heart is gone. I buried it with Margaret, he thought. Easier to deny the need than to face it. Easier to blame this old maid for the tightening in his chest than face the wrenching hole that Margaret’s death had left.

  * * *

  Olive watched the play of emotions that blew through Jacob Butler’s eyes and wondered what he was thinking. She watched him kiss the children and nod to Mary and walk out the door, those massive shoulders lower than usual.

  “What do we have to do?” Luke asked.

  “Well, children, we are going to begin with cleaning up this house. Mary, get the dirty dishes out of the sink. The rest of you can bring the breakfast dishes over,” Olive said.

  Mary scowled and Olive ignored her. Olive carried the hot water from the stove and dumped it in the pan. She rolled up the sleeves of the brown dress and handed Mary a dry rag. Mary looked down at the rag in confusion.

  “What do you want me to do with this? There’s already a rag in the sink,” Mary said.

  “I’ll wash, you dry, Mary,” Olive said.

  “I know how to scrub dishes.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Olive said and looked down at the girl.

  “I can earn John and my keep,” Mary sai
d as she grabbed the sopping rag.

  “Mary,” Olive said puzzled, “what is this about? I wash. You dry. It’s not that complicated.”

  Mary took a step back and Olive saw tears form in the girl’s eyes.

  “My ma told me I had to earn my keep. I know I hafta. I could make it on my own but there’s John. I hafta earn my keep ta feed John. I know. Now gimme the rag.”

  Olive’s voice caught on a hitch of emotion and she hated the look of helplessness and fear on her niece’s face. Olive walked to the table, sat down and held her head. How would she ever explain to this girl that her love is unconditional? How would she erase a lifetime of anger? At that moment Olive hated her brother. Not for the squalor or the gambling or the disrepair of his home but for the pain he allowed his wife to inflict on his own child. Why, James, why did you allow it?

  “Mary, come here and sit down.” Olive watched as she turned from the sink and she saw suspicion rise on Mary’s face. “Please,” Olive added. “Mary, look at me. When I told Mr. Butler I needed help with chores, I didn’t mean I wanted you to do them. I meant we would all work together. You are not my servant, Mary. Nor do you have to earn your keep.”

  “If John and me are goin’ to eat then I have to do my chores,” Mary said.

  “I may be disappointed you choose not to help but I would never deny you food because of it. My love for you and John are not based on how much work you do,” Olive said softly.

  Mary rolled her eyes and Peg stepped close to Olive. “You love John and Mary?” Olive nodded at the little wide-eyed girl and she continued, “My mama loved us. She told us every night when we said our good nights to God.”

  Olive pulled Peg onto her lap and squeezed her tight. “Of course your mama loved you. How could she not?”

  “Daddy says she watches us from heaven and she still loves us,” Luke said as he laid his hand on Olive’s arm. John inched close to Luke.

  The grief and wanting was so clear on the four faces before her that Olive struggled to speak. Instead she gathered John and Luke onto her lap with Peg and kissed all three heads.

  “A mother’s love doesn’t stop because she’s not here.” Olive looked up to Mary and continued, “We don’t always know why things happen the way they do but we can always be sure that our mothers loved us.”

  Mary turned back to the sink and Olive watched with resignation. “And,” Olive said, “if we get the chores done quickly we can begin making some new clothes for everyone.”

  The little ones on her lap cheered and hugged and their eyes lit up with anticipation. Olive directed each of them in a task and although it took twice as long, Olive was sure, she had each small hand busy with something. Mary handed Mark a tin cup and he proceeded to pound it on the table. Olive looked at Mary over the din of the children’s voices and constant drumming from Mark’s cup.

  “He stays quiet when he has his cup to bang,” Mary said and shrugged.

  Olive laughed. “This is quiet?”

  The corners of Mary’s mouth began to turn up. She quickly turned her attention back to sweeping the floor in front of the hearth.

  “Alright children. Let’s cut this fabric, so I can begin on some new clothes,” Olive said as she unrolled the first piece. “Now this denim, we’ll make into pants for Luke and John. Mary, Peg picked the ginghams and prints. Do you like any of them? I think with your blue eyes this rose colored flower design will look lovely on you.”

  Peg’s head barely reached over the table and she rested her chin on the edge. Mary and John’s eyes darted between each other and John went to his sister. Mary’s face was white and Olive could see John squeezing her hand.

  “What do I have to do?” Mary asked grimly.

  “Pick a fabric, Mary. That’s all,” Olive said.

  “Ma said ya never get something for nothin’,” Mary said and John looked up at Olive.

  “Your mother was wrong in this case. I bought this fabric to make some new clothes. I was just hoping I could teach you to sew.”

  Mary edged closer to the table and felt the cloth. Her head did not lift when she asked, “Ya think the pink one would look good on me?”

  “I do.”

  Olive spent the rest of the day cutting and sewing and trying to keep eight dirty hands off the new fabric. Mary sat down to sew a long straight seam and Olive watched the girl struggle.

  “Oh dear,” Olive said as she lay Mark down in his crib for a nap. “I didn’t start anything for supper.”

  Mary followed Olive into the pantry and the girl’s eyes widened at the new stores on the shelves. “We could make ham and beans with a piece of the bacon,” the girl said as she picked up the dry goods.

  “Perfect,” Olive said. “What do I do?”

  Mary looked up at her aunt. “Why don’t I get it started?”

  The day rolled on, the house full of clutter and the smell of bacon and beans simmering on the stove. Olive straightened from the table, pleased with what she had accomplished but exhausted from the task. She pressed her fingertips into the small of her back and arched, stretching and relieving the ache. John and Luke wore new denim pants and Peg was twirling in a simple new dress. Other than knowing the exact location of every book in the library back home, sewing was Olive’s skill and her crafts revealed her passion. Peg’s gingham dress was trimmed with a white collar. Olive combed the child’s hair as Peg sat still on her lap and reverently touched the folds where her skirt settled over her legs. The hair was knotted and the combing nearly brought Peg to tears. But she bravely faced the pain, for the prospect of a matching bow in her hair.

  Mary worked at her stitches slowly and Olive felt she was stubbornly determined to complete the dress. Olive was pleased and hoped the sewing would give them some common ground. John’s flannel shirt was cut and Olive pinned the seams and sat down at the table to stitch.

  “Daddy’s home,” Luke cried. He, John and Peg ran out the door to greet the wagon.

  * * *

  Jacob kissed the children as they smiled and clung to him and he noticed Peg’s hair was different. It was combed and plaited and tied with a ribbon that matched . . . a new dress. That’s why she was gibbering and touching the fabric. Jacob stood in the doorway, finding Miss Wilkins and her niece hunched over needles.

  “What’s this?” Jacob said.

  “Hello, Mr. Butler.” Miss Wilkins greeted him with barely a glance.

  “What’s this?” he repeated.

  “Pardon?” she said and looked up.

  “Miss Wilkins? Can I talk to you outside?” The children looked into Jacob’s eyes as they clung to him and slowly shimmied down his arms and legs.

  “Yes?” Olive Wilkins said as they stepped off the porch and away from the house.

  “What is Peg wearing?”

  “I bought fabric for clothes for John and Mary and I noticed that your children needed some new garments as well. We’ve had a very productive and pleasant day. Thankfully, Mary started beans for . . .”

  “My children don’t need new clothes,” Jacob interrupted.

  * * *

  In the span one sunset brought, Olive knew from the tone of his voice that Jacob Butler was angry. But she had not expected this growling voice to come out of twitching lips. He stood, hands on his hips, feet spread, obviously expecting a reply. If he had been upset about the bacon she imagined he was furious now.

  “Yes, Mr. Butler, your children do need new clothing. Peg’s petticoat barely covers her bottom and the holes are bigger than what’s left.” Olive watched the man’s face contort and his tension escalate. “Luke’s pants come to his knee and Mark’s diapers are threadbare.”

  “I know what my children’s clothes look like, Miss Wilkins.”

  Olive pursed her lips at the outrage in his whisper. “Fiddlee dee dee, Mr. Butler. It’s just a new dress and pants. What’s the uproar?”

  “I don’t have the money for the cloth and I won’t accept charity. The clothes will be returned to you,” h
e said.

  Olive’s eyes rounded in horror at the thought of taking the cherished dress from little Peg. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she removed her wire rim glasses. “Pride, Mr. Butler, is a sin. And to think you would turn your sin to hurt that child. Well . . .”

  “My sin. My children,” he shouted.

  Olive inelegantly stamped her foot, surprising herself, and her finger came within an inch of Jacob Butler’s face. She shook it and shouted a lame threat, “If you so much as dare to take that dress from Peg, I’ll . . . I’ll leave . . . and I won’t come back.”

  Mr. Butler harrumphed and a smile curled one side of his mouth. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

  Olive fiddled trying hurriedly to rehook her glasses over her ears, snorting and blustering. She ran straight into Jacob Butler’s broad back. Olive stumbled backwards, readjusted her skirts and flew to the giant’s side as he stared at his doorway. There, Peg and Luke stood staring back at their father and the looks on their faces must surely been the reason he stopped quickly.

  “Is Miss Wilkins goin’ ta leave?” Luke asked.

  “Daddy?” Peg sobbed. “Do I have ta give back my dress?”

  “Yes, Peg,” he said.

  Peg’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “Mr. Butler, please,” Olive began, “don’t make her give the dress back.”

  * * *

  Jacob watched the children run to Olive Wilkins and huddle in her skirts. He felt his heart breaking as he listened to their sobs. He stepped into the kitchen and found Mary holding Mark in her arms with a look of pure hatred on her face.

  “It’s plain mean to take that dress from Peg. You don’t know what it’s like when folks stare and point at ya. Whether it’s ‘cause your dress is three years too small or your pants come up to yer knees or . . . maybe ‘cause of who yer ma was.” Mary’s voice quivered in anger and she shoved Mark into his arms. “Here, he’s all peed through.”

  Jacob sat the infant in his crib and lowered himself into the rocker as the cries on the porch wound down. Peg’s old dress lay in a heap on the floor in front of him and he supposed this is the spot she had stood when she pulled the new dress over her head. Stepping out of the old one and letting it fall to the floor. Jacob picked up the threadbare garment and rested his elbows on his knees as he looked at the faded print and stains on the fabric. His head dropped in shame. He had not noticed or tried not to notice how small and worn it was. But there was no extra money and certainly no money for fabric. Jacob barely had enough for the mortgage and food. He scowled thinking of the wagon piled high with supplies that Miss Wilkins had bought. I don’t want help, Jacob thought, I don’t need help. A small hand, Luke’s hand, rested on Jacob’s shoulder and he turned to his son standing beside him. Luke had put on his old pants and fought valiantly to smile.