“Sure. But why can’t you?” asked Kristy as I wrote her name in the book.
“I need to be free to help Mrs. Towne. In fact, I probably shouldn’t schedule any baby-sitting jobs for a while. At least until she’s back on her feet.”
“I thought she was back on her feet. Isn’t it just a broken ankle? She’s on crutches, right?” Kristy is nothing if not direct.
“Crutches or her canes. She’s getting better with them,” I said.
“And doesn’t a nurse come every day, too?”
Oh my lord. Kristy was turning into a prosecutor, like those lawyers on TV.
“The nurse is for physical therapy. Besides, I’m paying for my sewing lessons by helping Mrs. Towne out,” I reminded Kristy.
Dawn said, “It seems like you’re putting in an awful lot of time and work at Mrs. Towne’s, Mary Anne.”
Before I could answer, Stacey said, “And if you’re giving up baby-sitting jobs it’s like you’re paying twice.”
Part of me wanted to argue. Part of me was hurt that they hadn’t realized they were seeing the new, unselfish me. And part of me thought, They’ll never understand.
Fortunately, the phone rang again, and we got busy. By the time the client rush was over, we’d moved on to other topics.
When I reached Mrs. Towne’s house the next day, I decided that what her kitchen floor needed was a good mopping. I settled Mrs. Towne in her sewing room, then found the mop and bucket. I unhooked the apron from the back of the pantry door, noticing as I did how beautifully made the apron was. No store-bought apron here, but one with a bib and a loop on the side for a towel, and a big patch pocket with embroidered edging.
It was a little big, but not much. I filled the bucket, picked up the mop, turned, and somehow managed to knock the bottle of Murphy’s oil soap over. I made a grab for it, snagged it, stepped in the bucket of water I’d filled and turned the whole thing over. I just saved myself from falling by grabbing a chair.
What a mess!
Oh, well. At least I hadn’t dropped the soap.
“Are you okay?” called Mrs. Towne. I guess the metal bucket had made a lot of racket.
“Fine,” I called back reassuringly. “No problem.”
“Mary Anne?” said a familiar voice from the front door.
“Dawn?” I said. I gave my foot a shake. The bucket stuck to it. No way was I stuck in the bucket. Was I?
“Can we come in? It’s me and the Arnolds.”
I’d forgotten that Dawn was sitting for the Arnolds that day, and that she’d said she might stop by.
“Uh, sure, come on back.” I gave my foot another shake and the bucket came off and clattered across the floor. My feet were soaked, and I was standing in a gloppy pool of soap and water.
Carolyn and Marilyn appeared at the door, took one look at the puddle of water and shrieked, “Goody!”
Two seconds later, the twins were sliding in the water on the floor as if it were a skating rink.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” I cried, while Dawn made a grab for the nearest twin.
“What happened here?” asked Dawn. I looked at the floor, I looked at my feet, and I looked at the girls’ faces.
“It’s a long story,” I said, and burst out laughing.
It took awhile to clean up the kitchen. I tried to use the water to mop the floor by just adding the Murphy’s oil soap, but it wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to add too much soap, because I knew that with all that water I’d just create more soap suds. And more soap. And more soap.
By the time I’d finished that, Dawn and the twins had had a visit with Mrs. Towne and were on their way out.
“I’m walking Carolyn and Marilyn back home,” Dawn said. “Want to join us and then maybe go get a soda or something?”
“I can’t,” I replied. “I still have to water the plants and the garden. Oh, and the laundry. I almost forgot about the laundry.”
“Are you sure?” said Dawn.
“Thanks, but I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Okay …” The three of them trailed away. I returned to my chores.
As I was heading home, I looked at my watch. I’d wanted to call Claudia and work with her on the design of the quilt for my sewing class. We had the materials and we were making progress, but Claudia had such a good eye for color and texture that I’d hoped she and I could go back to the fabric shop for some extras.
Now I was too late. As it was, I barely got home in time for dinner. And afterward, I was just plain tired.
Dawn stuck her head in the door as I lay sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling. “You look beat,” she said.
“Ummm.”
“Well, I guess I’ll come back later.”
I laughed. “Later, I’ll be asleep.” I couldn’t help myself. I yawned.
Smiling, Dawn gave me a little wave. “You’ll be asleep in the next five minutes, I’d say. Talk to you later.”
“Okay,” I said. “It’s not important is it?”
But Dawn had all ready gone.
She was right. I fell asleep about five minutes later.
The next morning after breakfast, I sat down on the back steps and just stared at nothing. It felt good. I stretched. A hammock had been hung in the backyard. Mostly my father stretched out in it when he had a chance. I’d never understood its appeal before, but I thought I might give it a try. I lowered myself into it.
Hmm. Not bad. Not a bad way at all to spend a peaceful summer morning….
“Mary Anne! Mary Anne!”
I sat up. Sharon was standing at the back door, waving. “Telephone. It’s Mrs. Towne.”
Mrs. Towne. Oh, no! Had she had another accident?
I flew out of the hammock and ran to the phone.
“Hello,” I gasped.
“Mary Anne. You sound out of breath. Is this a bad time to call?”
“No! Not at all. Is anything wrong?”
“Not a thing — except this ankle of mine. I was just wondering … I have some sewing supplies upstairs in my bedroom. I can’t quite manage the stairs, as you know, and I need some fabric for one of the projects I’m working on. Could you possibly come over when you have a moment and get a few things down for me?”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll be there right away.” I hung up the phone and turned to find Dawn behind me.
“Mrs. Towne?” she asked.
“Yes, but don’t worry. It’s not an emergency,” I told her.
“Are you going to be gone long?”
“I don’t know …” I said. Inside, I sighed. Part of me (the lazy, inconsiderate part, no doubt) wished I were still lying in that hammock. I pushed the thought aside and headed for Mrs. Towne’s house.
I didn’t see Dawn again until that afternoon. She waved at me from the Kishis’ car as I was coming home, all grungy from yard work at Mrs. Towne’s. (Weeds have a way of creeping up on flower beds, I guess.) Dawn was in the car with Stacey and Claudia. I found out when I got home that they’d left for the mall.
For a moment I was hurt that they’d gone without me. But then I realized that I couldn’t very well expect them to plan their schedules around mine.
It was no big deal, I told myself. Besides, I needed a shower.
The shower felt great, and I felt better, too. And when Logan called, I realized how long it had been since I’d seen him.
Especially when he said, “Hello, stranger.”
“Logan? How are you doing?”
“In the years that have passed since I saw you last —”
“Uh-oh, a poet,” I said. “Have you been hanging around with Vanessa Pike?”
“— I have aged. But if you’ll go out with me soon, like tomorrow maybe, my condition will improve.”
“I can’t tomorrow,” I said. “I have to do some stuff for Mrs. Towne.”
“The next day?”
“That’s not good either.”
“Mary Anne! Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Only that I’m really, really busy, Logan.” I sighed. How had life gotten so complicated? “Listen, what about Friday? We’ll spend the whole day together. We’ll go on a picnic, take a bike ride …”
“Decent!” said Logan.
Had I just been thinking about how complicated life was? Wrong. It was wonderful. I was going to spend all of Friday with Logan.
“I can hardly wait,” Logan told me.
I wondered if he could feel how big my smile was over the phone as I replied, “Me neither. I can hardly wait either.”
Dawn stuck her head in the door of my room.
“Logan’s here,” she said.
I glanced at the clock on my dresser. Eleven A.M. sharp. I took one last look in the mirror and headed downstairs.
Logan was at the kitchen table drinking Orangina with Dawn.
“Hey,” he said in that soft drawl that always made me feel good. Today, it made me feel extra good. I hadn’t seen Logan in forever, and now I had the whole day ahead of me to spend with him doing everything and anything — except housework.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Dawn, pouring out some Orangina for me.
“Thanks, Dawn. What a wonderful day! Isn’t it a wonderful day?”
Logan gave me a significant look and said, “It sure is.”
I blushed a little, but I smiled to let him know I agreed.
And Dawn went on, “It is definitely a decent day. I’d say some serious porch-sitting activity is required. Let’s go sit out there.”
Dawn led the way to the porch and sat down on the top step. Logan sat next to her and I slid past them and sat on the step below and leaned back against Logan.
“You never answered my question,” Dawn pointed out. “What’s the deal for the day, guys? Hanging out? Major activity? Variations on the porch-sitting theme?”
Logan laughed. “Wellll — it was hard deciding, wouldn’t you say, Mary Anne?”
I nodded. “We finally decided we’d ride our bikes to the lake and spend the whole day swimming and hiking and having a picnic lunch.”
“Excellent choice,” said Dawn. “The sun at the lake should be a killer this time of year.”
Just then, as if the word killer were his cue, Tigger came leaping out from under the steps, taking wild swipes at a monarch butterfly. The butterfly didn’t seem to notice it was being chased. It kept making lovely zig-zag flight patterns across the lawn, gradually flying higher and higher. That didn’t stop Tigger, though. He persisted, twisting and twirling in the air until the butterfly made a sudden loop and disappeared into the branches of a tree.
We all burst out laughing. Tigger, in true cat fashion, pretended he didn’t notice. He turned his back on us, sat down, and began furiously washing his paw and face.
We hung out on the steps for a while longer, watching Tigger and talking. Then Logan and I went inside and began packing our picnic lunch.
“I’m not helping you with this,” said Dawn. “I know what the word picnic really stands for, you guys: junk food extravaganza.”
Logan pretended to be hurt. “Junk food? Junk food? Potato chips are an important source of … of …”
“Potato vitamins,” I supplied.
“Uh-huh,” said Dawn. “I forgot. The potato chip vitamin. Sort of like vitamin C, right?”
“Right,” agreed Logan. “You need some every day!”
We didn’t pack just potato chips, though (although we included plenty). Logan had brought some homemade pimento cheese from his house. (That’s cheese and mayonnaise and pimentos all mixed together. I hadn’t heard of it until I met Logan, but he says he practically grew up eating pimento cheese sandwiches in the South.) I made cream cheese and jelly sandwiches on brown bread, and snagged some salsa to go with the chips. Salsa made me think of avocados, so I made some avocado and cheese sandwiches, too. Then Logan “invented” an avocado and pimento cheese sandwich.
“I think that about covers it,” he said.
“Wait,” I answered. I dug around in the refrigerator and pulled out a bunch of grapes, then found a package of double fudge Oreos where I’d secretly stashed them in the pantry.
“Out-standing,” said Logan. We loaded the picnic into our knapsacks on top of the swimming stuff and headed out the door. We were wheeling our bikes down the drive when I heard Dawn calling me.
“Mary Anne! Mary Anne!”
I turned and shaded my eyes so I could see her on the porch. “What is it?”
“It’s Mrs. Towne,” said Dawn. “She says she needs your help.”
“Just a minute,” I told Logan, taking off my backpack and setting it on the ground. I ran as fast as I could back into the house and picked up the telephone.
“Mary Anne? Oh, good. I was so worried you wouldn’t be there.”
“Mrs. Towne! What’s wrong?”
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just that I need some things that are on the top shelf of a closet and I can’t reach them. And — I know this is going to sound silly, but — a wasp has gotten into the kitchen and I can’t seem to shoo it out.” She gave a little laugh. “Wasps make me, well, nervous.”
“Me, too,” I said. Poor Mrs. Towne. “I’ll come right over.”
But when I hung up the phone, I found Dawn standing there.
“I have to go over to Mrs. Towne’s,” I said.
“Oh,” said Dawn. That’s all she said. Just “oh.” But something about the way she said it made me answer, “Well, how would you like to be old and helpless and all alone?”
“I’m not into helpless,” said Dawn, and left before I could answer.
I remembered Logan then, and hurried back outside where he was waiting patiently.
“Mrs. Towne needs me to come over right away,” I said.
Logan wasn’t as neutral as Mary Anne. “Now?” he said. “You’re kidding!”
“No!”
“An emergency?” asked Logan.
“Not exactly,” I replied. I explained what Mrs. Towne wanted. “How could I say no?” I concluded. “It would have been selfish. And Mrs. Towne needs help.”
Logan shook his head. “I guess.”
“C’mon, Logan. We’ll go over to Mrs. Towne’s house and help her out and then we’ll have our picnic.”
“It’s afternoon already,” Logan pointed out. But he was turning his bicycle in the direction of Mrs. Towne’s house even as he was speaking.
“Thanks, Logan,” I said gratefully.
Mrs. Towne met us at the door of her house. I introduced Logan to her and he shook hands with Mrs. Towne. Mrs. Towne told me which closet she had been talking about and what she needed out of it. Then Logan and Mrs. Towne made their way slowly down the hall toward the kitchen. I hoped Logan would see how nice Mrs. Towne was. I wanted him to like her.
When I returned from the closet, Mrs. Towne was standing by the door that led from the hall into the kitchen. The door was closed.
“It’s in there,” she said, almost whispering.
“Don’t worry,” said Logan. He pretended to flex his muscles. “We’ll get the varmint.”
“We won’t kill it, though, okay, Logan?” I said.
“Whatever you say,” he answered.
We pushed the kitchen door open and slipped inside. Mrs. Towne closed it firmly behind us.
The wasp was easy to spot. It was buzzing against the kitchen window angrily.
It wasn’t so easy to catch.
First we tried to put a glass over it. Once we’d trapped it against the window with the glass, we could slide a piece of cardboard or something under the glass and just take it outside.
But the wasp refused to go along with our plan.
“Here, let me try,” said Logan, after I’d missed the wasp about a zillion times.
I climbed carefully down from the kitchen sink and handed the glass to Logan. He crouched down, lifted the glass — and fell backward. “Arrgh!”
The wasp sailed out into the kitchen over our head
s as I caught Logan to keep him from falling. I staggered under the weight of him while he scrambled to try and get his feet out of the sink and onto the floor.
It almost worked. Except that Logan tripped over the edge of the sink. The next thing I knew, we’d landed with a crash in the middle of the kitchen floor.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Towne called anxiously from the other side of the door.
“Terrific,” said Logan.
“We’re fine, Mrs. Towne,” I answered. “Don’t worry.”
“I think I’m injured,” said Logan. “I think I need someone to kiss me and make me feel better.”
He leaned toward me — and the wasp dive bombed us!
“Eeek,” I screamed, scooting backward.
“Aaah!” croaked Logan, doing the same thing.
The wasp rose up and made a triumphant circle of the kitchen ceiling.
“Where’s the broom?” asked Logan.
“No!” I said. “You can’t kill it.”
“Why not? It’s trying to kill us!”
“It doesn’t know we’re trying to help it,” I said.
We sat for a minute watching the wasp circle. Every third or fourth circle, it came back to bang on the kitchen window.
Suddenly I had an idea. “What if we just raised the window and took the screen out? Then the wasp could fly out the window and away.”
“Great idea, Mary Anne.” Logan got up and held out his hand to me. “You stand in the sink this time. I think it would be safer.”
He hoisted me up to the sink and I raised the window. The screen lifted easily. I climbed safely to the floor and we settled down to watch the wasp. Sure enough, on the fifth circle it flew to the window. It didn’t even slow down. It just sailed on through.
“Here’s to a job well done,” said Logan, leaning over to give me a kiss.
The kitchen door opened and Mrs. Towne said, “Did you get it?”
Trying not to look as if she’d surprised us, I said, “We sure did. We opened the kitchen window and it flew right out.”
“Oh, good,” said Mrs. Towne. “Now, why don’t you let me fix you some lunch, to thank you for all this.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I began, but she waved her hand. “No, I insist. It’s past lunchtime anyway. You must be hungry. I am!”
Maid Mary Anne Page 7
