Beyond the Picket Fence

by Lori Wick

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  toward a bench. They sat, Stan's arm along the back of the bench behind Ellen's shoulders. They were content to sit with their own thoughts and watch people pass.

  Finally Stan commented, "Bunny called me at the office today."

  "At the office? Is she all right?"

  "She's fine. She'd tried you at home and couldn't reach you."

  "It must have been when I was at the market. What did she need?"

  "Her plans for London have fallen through. She

  wants to come home for Christmas and bring a friend." "Is she terribly disappointed?" "I don't thinkso."

  "Well, it will be wonderful to have her. Who's she bringing?"

  "She didn't have a chance to tell me because I told her we wouldn't be here."

  Ellen stared at him and watched as he took an envelope from his pocket. He placed it in her lap. Ellen's hand went to her mouth when she saw the travel agent's name in the corner.

  "Oh, Stanley," she breathed. "What have you done?" "Have you changed your mind?"

  "No, but I had completely shifted gears. I even have a list of names at home--people we could ask to join us for Christmas."

  "Have you already asked them?"

  She shook her head. "I wanted to check with you first." "Then there's really no harm done." "But Bunny, what did she say?'' "She cried."

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  "Oh,

  Stan, no."

  "She did. She thought it was the neatest thing. Said you'd been asking for years and how proud she was of me that I would break tradition."

  Stan's arm brought her close now, and Ellen buried her face in his neck. Stan didn't know what to say. His heart was so full. He wanted to tell Ellen how much she meant to him, how sorry he was that he'd never taken her before, and that this act was so small compared to all he felt inside. But the words would not come.

  Holding her near, however, the smell and feel of her hair so close to his face, he glanced down to the envelope still in her lap. He couldn't say the words right now, but maybe he didn't have to.

  The waitress put the plates in front of them, and both Ellen and Stan bowed their heads so Stan could pray. Stan had just put his napkin in his lap when Ellen leaned close.

  "We did it. We're in Disneyland on Christmas Day."

  Stan chuckled. "That we did. What do you want to ride first?"

  "Thunder Mountain Railroad," she said without hesitation.

  "And second?''

  Ellen didn't know. She was too excited to think beyond that. Every time they visited the Magic Kingdom, they ate breakfast in a restaurant that served early birds before the main street opened. That's where they were now: eating alone in Disneyland, no children for the first time, and on Christmas Day.

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  "We'll have to bring Ethan with us sometime, but I'm so glad we're here alone," Ellen confided.

  "Me too," Stan agreed before leaning toward her to share a pancake-syrup kiss.

  Watching them from two tables away, a very young couple looked at each other and smiled.

  "Do you think they're honeymooners like we are?" the young woman asked.

  "Too old," the young man proclaimed.

  "I don't know." She was clearly skeptical as she watched Ellen's adoring eyes on Stan. "They act like honeymooners." She turned back to her new husband.

  "Are you still going to kiss me when we're that old?" The man's eyes twinkled. "What do you think?" The two shared another smile, and both glanced back at the other table. The main street to Disneyland had been open for about ten minutes, but the man and woman with the graying hair were still sitting very close, noses nearly touching, and talking as though they had all the time in the world.

  A Notefrom Lori: Iwrote this story not long after I lost my father and wept buckets in the process, but l? really not about my parents. Much as I love the holidays in snowy Wisconsin, someday I would love for Bob and me to flaunt convention and run away to Disneyland on Christmas Day And who knows? Maybe someday we will do just that.

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  Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.

  Ephesians 6:1

  The last day of school, usually so exciting for bBobby, was tempered a bit by a trip to the barber. The weeks between Easter vacation and the end of school had stretched on endlessly for Bobby as his older siblings went off to school each day, but now his brothers and sisters would be home for the rest of the summer, and he would have full-time playmates. If only his mother hadn't spoiled the excitement just after breakfast.

  "The kids will be home at half past eleven," she had said,"so we'dbetter get downtown. I need to pick up the mail, get milk and bread, and stop at the hardware store. Although," she paused a moment, "you need to get to the barber, so we'll do that first."

  "The barber?"he'dasked in dismay, but his mother was poring over her list and didn't reply.

  64Less than an hour later, Bobby's mother's words came to fruition, and he found himself in the barber's chair, cranked high into the air, the sound of the clippers assailing his small ears.

  It's best for everyone reading Bobby's story to understand something about Wisconsin in the early 1960's--little boys had butch haircuts. A butch was short and fuzzy. There was nothing left to brush or style, since all the hairs of the head were the same short length.

  Bobby didn't care for this style, but as a five-year- old, his opinion on the matter counted for little. His brother Johnny was three years older, but he could not sway his mother's beliefs either. If Bobby's guess was right, Johnny would be downtown the next morning for his own shearing.

  At the moment, however, Bobby sat pragmatically before the huge mirror as Les and his electric clippers did their job. The result was much the same as all the haircuts before, and no one noticed the small sigh that lifted the red-stripedcoverswathing Bobby's small form.

  Weeks later the family left the state for their traditional summer vacation. Bobby smiled secretly to himself as his hand reached surreptitiously for the hair at the back of his head. In all the bustle and rush of vacation plans and packing, no one had taken time to get the younger boys to the barber for a late summer haircut. Bobby knew very well that the barber shop would be their first stop when they arrived back home, but in the meantime, he had more hair on his head than he'd had in a long time.

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  Bobby's joy, however, was short-lived. After they'd settled their travel trailer into a campground in Georgia, Mother told Bobby's older sister Jane to walk the boys into town for haircuts. Bobby was quiet as they ambled along, hoping in his heart that the town wouldn't have a barber.

  Once on the short city streets, some of Bobby's chagrin deserted him. Fascinated, he took in the clapboard storefronts of an unfamiliar town. He saw a five-and-ten-cent store, a bank, two small grocery stores, a small hardware store, a clothing emporium, a real estate office--and a barber shop.

  Bobby spotted this last establishment without much enthusiasm, but he marched obediently across the threshold when Jane held the door. The barber was friendly enough, and the change in shops was interesting, but Bobby still felt a bit cheated.

  "Well, now," the barber offered as he put down the weekly paper and stood. "What can I do for you today?"

  "My brothers need haircuts," Jane told him with calm efficiency.

  "Well, who'll be first?"

  With that question, Bobby climbed into the chair and lifted his chin for the drape. He stared at himself in the mirror and just barely heard the conversation

  between the barber and his sister.

  "Just a trim today?"

  "The barber at home always gives them a butch." "A butch?" the barber asked with some confusion.

  Jane's hands gestured around her own head. "It's just cut short all over."

  "With the clippers?"

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  "Yes, that's right."

  The barber nodded and switched the clippers on. His first sweep, straight back from the front of Bobby's head, made Bobby's littl
e heart sink with dread. In the seconds that followed, a boy appeared in the mirror that Bobby had never seen before: He was nearly bald.

  The contrast between his tan face and white scalp was startling. Bobby's mind went back to a picture he'd seen once in National Geographic. The photo had accompanied a story covering the last world war and depicted a group of pathetic-looking refugees, their hair as short as his own.

  It was a somber five-year-old who climbed down from the barber's chair. Bobby knew he should thank the barber, but the words would not come. It didn't help to look over at Jane and see her eyes wide with shock.

  Within minutes Johnny looked as much like a war victim as Bobby, and after Jane paid the man, they went on their way. Bobby never would have believed that one-quarter of an inch could make such a difference, but he felt so bare that he was tempted to run all the way back to camp.

  Bobby's mother had little to say when they came back but hugged each boy, thanked Jane, and gave all five of her children some lunch. Bobby stuck his tongue out at his other sister, Margaret, when he caught her staring at him. He simply ignored his oldest brother, Jeff. However, the afternoon passed in good

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  fun. They swam and played, and for a time Bobby forgot about his bald head.

  That evening over supper at the big picnic table outside their trailer, Bobby's dad was quieter than usual. Bobby caught him watching him from time to time, and he frantically searched his mind to see if he might be in trouble over something.

  The meal ended, and while his mother was doing the dishes inside, his father entered the trailer. Bobby sat on the rear bed coloring in a book.

  "Helen, it's about time those boys had some hair on their heads," he said without preamble.

  "It is awfully short, John," she agreed. "But you know Les never cuts it that close." Mother's hands dripped with soapy water as she shifted to face him.

  "No matter," he spoke decisively. "No more butches." Mother agreed without an argument, and after a moment, without looking in the direction of the little boy at the rear of the trailer, they both laughed softly. Father then made his way back outside.

  Bobby watched him go from his place back on the bed. He moved to the edge of the double mattress and leaned out precariously into what would have been considered the hallway to the rear of the trailer. On the back of the bathroom door was a mirror, one that would have been over his head if his feet had been on the floor. By stretching just so, he was able to see himself in that mirror.

  Staring back at him was the same baldheaded little boy he'd seen in the barber shop. This time, however, there was something different: This time was to be the last.

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  Bobby grinned at himself in the glass before going back to his coloring book, thinking as he did,I should have thanked the barber after all.

  A Note from Lori:I married the little boy in this story, and even though "Bobby" still goes for haircuts, there is now far less to cut. It was a fun story to hear, and also fun to write about my husband's immediate family. I will admit that I took some literarylicense. I did not, however change names to protect theinnocent.

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  An excellent wife, who can find? For her worth is far above jewels.

  Proverbs 31:10

  "I can't think why you want to do this," her editor had said, but she wouldn't listen.

  "I've never liked New York City," she had told him as she continued to pack. "And then the house I was raised in, the one in Pine Tree, Vermont, went on the market. I just bought it; we closed the deal this afternoon."

  "But you don't even have family left there." The elegantly dressed editor had looked stunned.

  "That doesn't matter. It's a great town with a super church. I've made up my mind,Monty,"she said, facing him squarely. "I'm going to move home and write my books there."

  That had been just two short months ago. Now, Dominique J. Brinks, "Nikki" to nearly everyone, stood

  70 looking at her spacious living room, boxes piled everywhere, and wondered at her own sanity. It had sounded so ideal, but the whole point had been to leave the mad rush of New York City behind and have time to write. She wondered if she could even find her computer in all of this. There was a box marked "computer," but she had found office supplies inside. In the midst of her tumultuous thoughts, the doorbell rang. Nikki waded her way to the door and found a man from the phone company on the step.

  "Am I ever glad to see you," she told him as he came across the threshold.

  "Most people feel that way," he said with a smile. "Where do you want me to begin?"

  Nikki showed him the place in her bedroom upstairs, the area where she wanted a phone in the kitchen, and the spot in the spacious dining room off the kitchen. The house wasn't huge, but she knew she would spend the majority of her time in those three areas, and it was easier to install three phones than to wander around with a cordless and forget where she last left it.

  Since the house had had phone lines before, the man didn't need much time, and Nikki was thrilled when he handed her the local phone book and her new number. He said he'd already called into the office and everything was working fine. In a burst of pleasure, her hands shaking a little with excitement, Nikki dialed the local library and listened to a recording about its hours. She then tried a few more numbers and went back to her unpacking.

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  As much as she wanted to get settled in the bedroom and kitchen so she felt really moved in, her feet drove her toward the dining room and her huge task there. She couldn't stand all the boxes stacked around, so she cleared the room until only the furniture was left.

  At that point she began opening the needed boxes in the living room and carrying her things to the dining room. She hung pictures, positioned odds and ends, and each time stood back and smiled at her efforts. She was finally ready for the most important addition and was dragging it carefully from the living room when the front doorbell rang.

  Sure that the telephone man had forgotten something, she swung the door wide before realizing who stood before her.

  "Mother!" she cried with joy and threw her arms around an older version of herself. "I.just tried to call

  you!"

  "Well, I'm not home," Virginia Warburton told her with a satisfied smile. "I'm headed to see my daughter in Vermont."

  "Oh, Mom." Nikki could have cried but didn't. "Is Tim with you?"

  "He's here in town but not with me right now. I

  think he wanted to give us a little time alone."

  "I'm so glad you're here."

  "Well," her mother's tone became firm. "I'm not

  here for fun. I'm here to help you move in."

  "Are you really."

  "Of course. Nearly all your friends from here have moved away, and I knew you'd be on your own."

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  "I won't turn that offer down. Come and see what I've done."

  Nikki led the way to the dining room and stood back.

  "Oh, Nikki," her mother said softly. "This is wonderful. You told me you were going to set up your office in here, but I never imagined..."

  "I just have to set up my computer, and I'm ready to go."

  Virginia could only stare. Nikki's desk sat so that her back was to the main wall. To her left were windows and to her right was the door into the hall. The wall in front of her held the door back to the kitchen. Built-in shelves already sported books and writing awards. Nikki had had the covers of all her books framed. They now hung around the room, interspersed with cartoons and family photos. The effect was wonderful: a room not originally intended for anything but dining, but perfect nonetheless.

  Virginia took a slow look around, the memories coming back. The nostalgia within these walls was very dear. The dining room had always been the family's favorite room. The huge bay windows that looked out over the acres of pines drew her close, and for a moment she stood quietly at the glass.

  "Such memories, Nikki. It's no wonder you want to work right here."

&nbs
p; "Remember the Christmas you broke your toe but still insisted on going with us to get the tree."

  Her mother chuckled. "Yes. I thought I'd die of cold before we found a tree we wanted."

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  BEYOND The PICKET FENCE

  "Dad was in a panic, sure that your exposed toe would be frostbitten, and we couldn't quit laughing."

  "He wasn't too happy with us," Virginia agreed, but she couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. Dominic Brinks had been dead for more than ten years, but the memory of that day was still strong in their minds.

  "Well, now," Virginia piped as she turned from the window. "I think we'd better get to work. Where do you want to begin?"

  "I think the upstairs. Are you and Tim going to stay here with me?"

  "If you have a place for us to sleep."

  "In that case, we'd better get started on the bedrooms."

  With that, the women were off. The house had been left clean, but the movers had tracked in a certain amount of debris, so they dusted, vacuumed, moved furniture--usually several times--hung pictures, made beds, filled closets, and washed windows. They made themselves stay in a room until it was completely in order. Two of the three upstairs bedrooms were finished, as were both bathrooms, before they allowed themselves to move downstairs to the living room and kitchen.

  Hours later, both thinking they could drop with exhaustion, they called it quits. They had no more collapsed on the sofa and love seat in the living room, when the front door opened.

  "Hello," a cheerful male voice called, and Nikki summoned up just enough energy to meet her stepfather at the door.

  "Hello, Tim," she said warmly as they hugged.

  74 "How's my Nikki?'' he asked, a tender light in his eyes. A widower with four children of his own, he still

  had room in his heart to adore his wife's only child. "Tired and hungry, but so glad to be here."

  Tim kissed her cheek a second time and reached

  for the bag he'd set down just inside the door.

  "How does dinner sound."

  "Oh, Mom," Nikki called to her. "Tim brought fried chicken."

  "You are an angel," Virginia declared as she came to join the fun. "We're so tired and hungry we thought we might just go to bed." She kissed his cheek and welcomed his hug.