Romancing Olive

by Bush, Holly

  “Oh.” Theda said. “Was it, the kiss I mean, was it pleasurable?”

  She is as curious as I, Olive thought. “Like nothing that ever happened to me before.” She leaned forward to Theda and whispered, “He put his tongue in my mouth.”

  Theda’s eyes widened and a look of revulsion crossed her face. “His tongue?”

  Olive fiddled with her hands and looked up to her friend. “Yes. And I thought I’d faint dead away.”

  “Really?” Theda said in wonder.

  Olive nodded. “Then I had some whiskey with him one night when I couldn’t sleep and he kissed me again.”

  “You were drinking whiskey?” Theda said as her hand came to her throat.

  “Just a sip,” Olive conceded.

  “Well, well, well,” Theda said and nodded and stared.

  Chapter Nine

  Although she would not admit it, Olive believed Mary went to bed early that evening just to be in her own room. The girl had folded her belongings, neatly in the dresser, changed into her new white nightgown and sat cross-legged on the bed.

  Olive peaked her head in the door and asked, “May I come in?”

  Mary nodded and sat still looking around the room.

  “We’ll have to get some pictures or do some cross-stitch for in here. The walls seem awfully bare,” Olive said and began to sit down on the edge of the bed.

  “Careful,” Mary said. “You were cooking in them, those clothes. I don’t want anything getting my spread dirty. You did say it was mine, right?”

  “It’s yours all right. I’ll be more careful next time,” Olive said with a grin.

  “Do you think if I gathered wild flowers and dried them they’d look good on the walls?”

  “I think that would be perfect. I think whatever you want will be just fine, Mary. What do you think of my friend, Miss Patterson?” Olive asked.

  Mary shrugged. “Seems pulled tighter than a noose, I’d say.”

  “Mary. That’s no way to talk.”

  “She’s alright, I guess. She reminds me of you when you first came here,” Mary said and looked up at Olive from under her brows.

  Olive’s eyes closed and she harrumphed. “I was thinking the very same thing. A few short months has certainly brought some changes for me.”

  Mary’s eyes rolled in her head. “That’s for sure.”

  “I suspect bigger changes than I’d thought. Some big changes for you as well. We’ve both changed Mary,” Olive said.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Mary conceded with a shrug.

  Olive leaned down and kissed the girl’s hair. “Goodnight, Mary.”

  Mary scooted back and ducked under the blankets. “I might just lay here for awhile. Not go to sleep right away,” she said and rolled to her side.

  Olive smiled and replied, “That’s fine.” As Olive reached for the door she heard Mary turn over and looked back at the girl.

  “I like it here, Aunt Olive.”

  “I’m glad,” Olive said and felt tears brim at the back of her eyes. She closed the door softly, and felt oddly as if this was her first real night as a mother. Settling a daughter to bed, talking about the day, and looking forward to the future.

  Theda had spread a sheet on the davenport and was sitting at the end by the kerosene lamp, embroidering. Olive sat down in the rocker and the two women sat quietly, Mary in her room and John asleep in his bed.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind sleeping out here?” Olive asked.

  “Not at all. I wouldn’t dream of moving one of you out of your bed on your first night in your new house,” Theda replied.

  John’s door opened then and the sleepy boy stood in the doorway looking at Olive. “What’s the matter, John?” Olive asked. He turned his head, looking away and Olive said, “Why don’t you come sit on my lap for awhile?”

  John crept over to Olive and she pulled him into her arms. She reached for a quilt thrown over the back of the rocker and spread it over John and her legs. The boy snuggled tight and Olive rocked and kissed his head.

  “It’s been a big day, John,” Theda said and smiled. “Lots of new things to get used to.”

  He stared and held tight to Olive’s arms. The groan from the wooden rocker, as Olive’s foot pushed the floor in rhythm, was the only sound in the room. Soon his eyes fluttered shut and Olive felt him relax against her. She looked up to Theda and smiled contently.

  “It seems as though mothering comes naturally to you, Olive,” Theda said softly.

  Olive smiled. “I don’t know about that. But I will say I can’t remember when I’ve ever felt as useful or needed.”

  “Do you miss Jacob’s children?”

  “I was just thinking that,” Olive said and kissed John’s hair again. “You don’t know quite when or how children find a way into your heart, but they do.”

  Olive stood slowly, holding John against her and turned to Theda. “Good night,” she said.

  Olive lay John down in her bed and pulled the covers back from under him. She crawled in beside him, relaxed and breathed deeply. Fresh wood, the scent of lemon furniture polish and little boy filled her nose. Olive could not remember a time when she felt this happy and at peace. As if all of her life she had been waiting, filing away memories and knowledge, preparing for this purpose. Waiting for the day, through tragedy and boredom, to begin her own life in a new home, with her own family. She said her prayers silently, eyes closed, as she had done since she was a little girl, thanking God for the long crooked path that brought her to this bed, under this roof.

  * * *

  Morning came brightly and swiftly to Olive and she awoke as John began to stir and Tiger stretched lazily in the sunlight. She heard someone in the kitchen and rose, pulling on her much missed green flannel robe. Olive was so glad to have all her things from back home. It made her new home feel right. Like a bride wearing something old and something new, her treasured family belongings brought sentiment and history to a new beginning.

  “Good morning,” Theda said. “I’ve put water on for tea.”

  “Good morning. You’re up and dressed early,” Olive said and yawned.

  “I didn’t want to bother anyone,” Theda said as she measured tealeaves into the pot.

  Olive sat contentedly while Theda heated biscuits from the last night’s meal and poured tea into Olive’s mother’s china teapot. Olive lifted the gold-rimmed cup and admired the delicate painted roses. “We didn’t always realize how lucky we were, did we, Theda?”

  Theda sipped her tea. “We were lucky, weren’t we?”

  “Always enough to eat, never worried about anything more important than what dress we would wear to church,” Olive said and pulled her robe tight around her.

  “We took for granted that everyone went to school and had clothes and people to care for them,” Theda said wistfully.

  “Mary didn’t want me to sit on the wedding ring quilt, for fear I would dirty it,” Olive said and chuckled.

  “From the sounds of it, that’s the finest thing that girl ever owned,” Theda said and frowned.

  “James did a poor job of providing for his family, among other things. Mary told me she didn’t go to school because it was too far to walk home. I guess James wouldn’t leave his card game at the end of the school day,” Olive said and felt a surge of anger.

  “I just cannot believe James,” Theda said and stared hard at Olive. “Do you think that wife of his was responsible for his poor behavior?”

  Olive stared back and didn’t blink. “No, Theda. I don’t think anyone made James lose sight of right and wrong. I think he did that all on his own.”

  Theda’s head tilted and she looked down at her hands. “Something must have happened.”

  “Yes. Something happened all right. Mother and Father spoiled him and gave him everything he ever wanted without working for anything.” Olive looked away then and said quietly, “I suppose I was guilty as well. Me being older didn’t help. I did all his chores so tho
se beautiful blue eyes of his wouldn’t tear up.”

  “He was the most handsome boy I ever laid eyes on,” Theda admitted quietly.

  “And us worried about whether men were honorable in their intentions to us and all along, my baby brother, the least honorable of them all.”

  Theda opened her mouth but didn’t reply. The two women sat quietly in their thoughts as they had done hundreds of times before.

  “Good morning, Mary. How did you sleep?” Olive asked as the girl walked into the kitchen.

  “Good,” the girl replied. “I’m goin to keep my door closed. I don’t want that old cat of yours pulling it’s claws on my spread.”

  Olive and Theda exchanged glances while Mary’s back was to them.

  “I nearly forgot,” Theda said and jumped from the table. “I brought gifts for you and John.”

  Mary looked at Olive from under her brow while Theda dug through her valise in the sitting room. “Probably some book on how to serve tea,” Mary whispered.

  “Whatever it is, be gracious and thank her,” Olive said quietly.

  Theda stood up triumphantly and returned to the kitchen. “Here, Mary, this is for you,” she said and handed the girl a velvet-covered box.

  Mary’s eyes widened and she fingered the soft fabric. “What is it?”

  “Open it and see,” Theda said and grinned at Olive.

  Mary laid the box reverently on the table and lifted the lid. Her mouth fell open and then closed. “I shouldn’t take something so fine.”

  “Yes, you should, Mary. Your Aunt Olive and I got our own brush and comb set when we were about your age. Go ahead lift them out,” Theda said.

  Mary held up the ivory backed, horse hairbrush and turned it over and over in her hand. She tucked it back in its spot and pulled out the matching comb. “They got an ‘M’ on them.”

  “Your initial, Mary,” Theda said.

  “Oh, Theda, they’re beautiful,” Olive said and smiled up at her friend.

  “I’ll be afraid to use them,” Mary whispered.

  Olive laughed. “The one I use on my dresser is the one my father bought me when I was eleven years old. I use it every day.”

  Mary replaced the comb and closed the lid formally. “I’m going to sit them on my dresser, right now. Ah . . .ah thank you, Miss Patterson. I never had a gift like this before. Sometimes on my birthday, Pa would bring me some new ribbons or something but never, ever anything like this.”

  “You’re welcome, Mary,” Theda replied.

  The girl went to her bedroom and Olive smiled at Theda. “What a thoughtful gift, Theda. Mary loves it.”

  “Well, after reading your letter, I wanted to get Mary something to treasure. It sounded like she didn’t have many things of her own,” Theda said.

  “She had nothing of her own. I’d be embarrassed for you to even see the house they were living in.”

  “Good morning John,” Theda said. “I have a gift for you. Well actually, they belonged to your father. Come see.”

  Olive turned and smiled to John as he came into the kitchen and wiped the sleep from his eyes. She looked up to Theda and asked, “From his father?”

  “Olive,” Theda said excitedly, “I found them when I was supervising the move at your house. Here, John.”

  Olive watched the boy accept the worn leather bag with the strings knotted and her breath caught in her throat. “James’ marbles. Where ever did you find them?”

  “Wedged behind the dresser in James’s room. Do you remember when he lost them?”

  “How could I forget, Theda? Our house was in an uproar for days,” Olive said and sat back, drifting to memories long forgotten. She watched John slowly untie the bag and pull a marble out. He turned it carefully in his hand and when the morning light caught the center, he sank slowly to the floor, examining each one.

  Olive and Theda watched the boy finger the smooth glass and Olive saw Theda’s lip tremble.

  “My God, Olive,” she said softly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think we were girls again watching James do the same thing.”

  “I know,” Olive said.

  “Have you ever played marbles, John?” Theda asked. The boy stared at her blankly. “Will you come outside with me? I’ll show you what to do.” Theda offered her hand and John considered. He carefully placed the marbles in the string bag and stood up, placing his hand, tentatively, in Theda’s.

  Theda’s face beamed over her shoulder as she looked at Olive and Mary came into the kitchen.

  “Where they going?” the girl asked.

  “Theda brought your father’s marbles for John and she’s going to teach him how to play,” Olive said smiling.

  “She knows how to play marbles?” Mary asked.

  Olive laughed. “We entertained your father when he was a boy more times than I can count. I was never very good but Theda was the acknowledged neighborhood champion.”

  “Just can’t imagine her playing marbles,” Mary said. “Aunt Olive? Will you come in my room?”

  Mary stood beside her dresser. “See, I put them right there in the middle.”

  Olive looked at the girl’s dresser bare but for an embroidered scarf and the precious velvet box. “They look perfect. Why don’t you open the box, then you’ll see your comb and brush?”

  Mary hemmed and hawed, opened the lid and closed it again. “I don’t know. I like it open, but I sure don’t want nobody coming along and swiping them.”

  Olive laughed and hugged Mary. “I don’t think anybody’s going to come along and swipe them. Let’s go see how Theda and John are doing.”

  Olive could do nothing but smile when she looked out the screen door with Mary. There was Theda, kneeling on the ground, over a circle drawn in the dirt. “Now this one is a cat’s eye and this one is your aggie. You try to knock my marbles out of the circle. Like this.”

  * * *

  Jacob arose, with kinks in his neck and sand in his eyes from too few hours of sleep. Luke and Peg had slept with him and even though there were four of them in the house, it had taken on a tomb like quality. He missed the steady hum of Olive’s sewing machine and her voice reading to the children in the evening. Jacob envisioned Olive in her own kitchen now, sewing and smiling, keeping a close eye on John and Mary. Cooking the things his mother had taught her. A vision of domestic tranquility.

  Luke and Peg had sat quietly, staring into the fire after dinner. Jacob had tried unsuccessfully to coax them into conversation. They only nodded and looked away. When Peg stood and announced she was going to bed, Jacob was shocked. The girl fought constantly to stay up, fearing she would miss something, Jacob supposed and now she voluntarily climbed into her bed. Luke followed soon after, quiet as well.

  Jacob sat a spell in the still of the house trying to convince himself how wonderful it was to have his house back to normal. He stripped to his underwear and stretched out in the rocker. Jacob reached for his tobacco and rolled a cigarette, thinking how grand it was to sit, in his shorts and have a smoke unbothered by a woman and children. But soon his eyes were drawn to the sink filled with dirty dishes from supper. He leaned back in his chair and planned his day following and watched Mark stir in his crib. On the shelf above Mark’s bed sat a neatly folded stack of clean white diapers and wondered how long they would last and if he had better add laundry to his list of chores. His eyes were drawn to the red gingham check cloth that now covered his rough table. Something else to wash, he thought.

  But as he looked at the table and the crock of daisies in the center he was reminded of Olive as she stitched the ends of the cloth and spread it across the table before dinner. A last vestige of her influence in his house, now a bit more civilized, he conceded. Homier with the new matching curtains at the window and covers pulled down before bed for the children.

  Jacob stood and stretched, shaking off the niggling feeling that his home and his children were bereft without Olive and worse off for it. “Shit,” he said and stood, looking around at his
home. It was fine before she came and they would do fine again. His eyes, though, stopped and held as he noticed a spool of dark thread on the mantle. A threaded needle stuck out of its side. And he gave into the loneliness he fought as it swept a cool chill across his bare back. Jacob climbed into bed beside Luke, but soon Peg cried for him and he tucked her under the covers with him. He lay stoically, as small feet dug into his ribs and bony legs kneed him, unable to sleep.

  Near dawn, just as Jacob closed his eyes, Peg whimpered in her sleep. He awoke, pulled her tightly to him and kissed her head. “What’s the matter, Peg? Did you have a bad dream?”

  The little girl’s long lashes fluttered with sleep and tears and she shook her head. “I’m just sad,” she said.

  Jacob pulled her tighter and saw Luke staring and awake. “I’m sad too. We miss Aunt Olive.”

  Jacob swallowed and admitted to the children that which he had been unable to admit to himself. “I miss her too.”

  * * *

  Theda’s visit went by quickly. The two women talked and sewed and tried with little success to turn ground over for a garden.

  “Well, Theda, everyone out here has a kitchen garden. Much more than our little beds of flowers and spices back home,” Olive said and straightened. “Flo and Beth feed their families all winter on what they can in the fall,”

  “You can do the same with canned goods from the mercantile, Olive,” Theda said and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

  The two women turned as they heard the roll of a wagon at the crest of the hill.

  “Jacob and the children,” Olive said and smiled. She shaded her eyes and waved back, walking out to greet them.

  “Aunt Olive,” Peg cried. Olive stretched her arms out and as Jacob pulled the wagon to a stop, Peg jumped down and raced to Olive. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Peg,” Olive said and squeezed the girl. “Hello, Luke. Where’s your brother?”

  Luke ran to her. “I caught a toad yesterday, Aunt Olive.”

  The children were smiling and yanking on Olive’s skirt as she laughed and pulled them close for a hug “Did you? How wonderful. My, my, Luke I think you’ve grown since I last saw you and it’s been less than a week.”